Grape fall, Millpond

The weekend forecasts are growing more dire by the minute, as a tropical storm named Hermine begins to work its way north with the threat of torrential rain and high winds in the forecast. I have my doubts—my arthritis, my early-warning-system, hasn't flared up—but I'm making modest preparations, just in case the Weather Channel and the National Weather Service are actually correct. I'm also getting in my walks, just in case I'm soon to be confined to quarters. Today's trek, which brought me back to the millpond to undo, yet again, the after-dark handiwork of the eager beavers, featured a genuine surprise: the squish of wild grapes underfoot. Given how dry it's been, I really didn't expect the local vines to bear fruit. One of the Vitis species paid no attention to my doubts and turned the meager rainfall into a fine, albeit modest, crop.