Good Vibrations

Huzzah huzzah! It's been a year of Fresh Grapes!

Alex Katz, Round Hill, oil on linen, 1977

On Wednesday I used the very last drops of a bottle of what I have crowned the best balsamic vinegar I have ever tasted. I don’t know if it has won any awards, but it was made in Modena which counts for something. I bought it at the fancy store in town where the salespeople are famous for never speaking to customers, and on this occasion the cute blonde behind the counter not only spoke to me, but did so thrice and therefore likely adores me and is awaiting the day I return to buy more balsamic. That day was today and he was not there, but alas, the salads of my future will be outstanding.

The whole thing felt like some significant marking of time… it was June, early summer when I bought that bottle of balsamic. I was elated, hopeful, energized. There is nothing better than the optimism of all that is possible in the first days of summer. Being reminded of that as we sit firmly in mid-August has me back in the same place I was exactly a year ago when I wrote my very first Substack: questioning if I have properly savored summer. In the time it took me to consume one bottle of balsamic vinegar, did I do all I should have done?

We never do this with the other three seasons. Not once have I asked did I do winter right? And yet, here I am wondering Have I swum in the lake enough? Maybe. I’ve been in water several times a week, but there’s always room for improvement. Have I spent an entire afternoon on the sand? More than once. It’s the best. Have meals been prepared on the grill? Of course. What a silly question. Fresh corn is ready for tomorrow’s dinner. Have I eaten enough tomatoes and peaches? Never. The kitchen counter is currently playing host to an obscene amount of bright red and pale orange spheres to be consumed within a matter of days. A tomato tart is on tonight’s menu.

When it comes down to it, this has been a lovely summer. A work heavy one, but a season spent entirety in northern Michigan — something I haven’t done since I was a teenager. I’ve enjoyed countless walks along the shore, dips in the lake, trips to the farmer’s market, and delectable meals with friends. I’ve taken up a new pasta making hobby and reveled in the accomplishments of Olympians. I returned to one of my favorite places in the world, Interlochen, and was nostalgic as ever — publicly weeping as I watched a dance rehearsal for “Les Preludes.” I worked harder than ever to grow my business and still managed to walk through the woods upon closing my computer each day. I’ve been good about sunscreen for the first time in my life and that may be the biggest accomplishment of all.

I took a bit of a pause with Fresh Grapes this summer, but today marks one year of sharing my writing via Substack, so it’s high time as any to get things rolling again. The simple act of acknowledging where I was a year ago and where I am today is invigorating as I think about all that is possible in this next chapter. And so, because I’m a naturally-inclined-to-reflect person, I’m taking this time to share not a story, but rather a smattering of exquisite details that have brought me joy in the past 365 days…

Hand painted wooden bags, passed down through generations.

Marvelously tiled arcades in Bologna and Paris.

An abundance of frescos savored throughout Italy.

The whimsy found in stripes.

Perfectly imperfect floral ceramics.

The waters of Lake Michigan, shifting through the seasons.

Elaborate Tudor dress adornment at the National Portrait Gallery.

Swoon worthy blooms.

Faces nestled in the gardens at Radical Farmhouse.

Musicians in trees and monkeys on tables.

The light in Rome.

The air in Michigan.

A reminder from a friend to look up and see that one of our favorite signs is, and hopefully always will be, still there.

Cheers to all the good vibrations that have made their way into this wild world, and every sweet drop of nectar still ahead.

— Katie