Filed under: Uncategorized
Miklos the hobo is a man with a plan. Every summer he goes very R.L Stevensonesque, what with the twinkling stars as his bed companions and his bread dipped in the proverbial river. Come winter, he cosies up by the hearth, or better still under downed blankets and makes himself quite at home in the houses that he burgles.
Not that Miklos is one to over extend his welcome. It is all part of the “let’s get into prison” deal where he enjoys the true hospitality of the state in the cold months. Meals on time, clean clothes, clean sheets and cable television. A couple of years back, Miklos chose Gabor’s parents summer-house as his winter time hideaway till the cops came and got him. Eventually.
On an unrelated matter, the hill life is rife with cats. The cats have some unspoken code of conduct – each adopts a resident family and expects to be fed by them come cold season. In return, the cat provides the family with steady companionship – like it or lump it.
Ginger the cat has adopted us. He accompanies us on our daily jaunts around the hill, scoping the land for rodents. And Ginger is blessed with a fine set of vocal chords that he chooses to exercise come day or night, rain or shine. The blessed cat does not cease to meow. Ever! To paraphrase, I have the cat filed under “general nuisance”
Back to Miklos, whose residency permit at the local prison ended last week. One cold dark evening we heard a crash and a bang and some indignant voices outside the kitchen window. We seldom have visitors braving the cold just to say hello, so Gabor decided to have a look-see.
Turns out, it was the police. They had come to warn us about “the return of Miklos”. And while floundering in the darkness, they managed to get a little too close for comfort and Ginger gave them a right fright. If the police can’t get past Ginger, there is no hope for Miklos. I now stand corrected. Ginger’s insistent meowing is music to our ears and one couldn’t ask for a better or for that matter greedier guard cat.
Mikloses of the world be warned! We are clawed and dangerous!
Filed under: Grape Harvest
Invigorating crisp October skies, hypnotic rhythms of the snipping of grapes, buckets laden with the bounty, vats full with eager stampers, festively ginghamed tables bowing under the weight of a feast – the perfect harvest!
Gabor had been scrutinizing the ripening of our grapes with a fanatical zest. This was after all, our very first harvest as proud owners of SargaHaz and its bountiful vineyard.
Week after week, the grapes deepened in shades of gold, juicy globes full of promise – proof enough that all was going to plan. Harvest dates were plotted and re-plotted with the precision of a surgeon’s knife.
Then came the rain. It poured. And poured. And just when you thought the skies had finally run out of steam, it poured some more. Our golden beauties turned an omnious shade of brown mingled with pale tones of rot.
So, accompanied by a light drizzle, one dull October morning, Gabor & family harvested all that remained in the aftermath of nature’s carnage. We lost half of our crop this year to ma nature’s rampage. Any and every notion one has of a vine harvest remain a fantasy.
Theres always another time.
À votre santé!
