Vintage Blend
July 31, 2014
By Ruth Varner
Five men in blue shirts hustled through sound checks on the outdoor stage.
“Testing…testing.” Microphones shrieked and sputtered in reply.
Hidden within the Yadkin Valley of North Carolina, 300-acre Shelton Vineyard rested serenely in late afternoon sun. Rows of vines stood as straight and noble as a military parade. At the end of each row a single rose bush added a splash of color and aroma for the pleasure of visitors.
Two Adirondack chairs, empty and carefully placed, beckoned from the shady bank of a pond. In dark, still water the blossoms of crepe myrtles lay mirrored. On the far side of the pond acres of grape vines marched over gently sloping hills.
A new sound emerged as a garnet-colored BMW convertible hummed into the parking lot. A smiling middle-aged couple emerged from the vehicle and easily shared information about their “fun” car purchased years before.
“We keep it in the garage except for special dates,” he said. “Sometimes, you just have to splurge.”
Vehicles of all descriptions entered the grounds, and colorful canvas chairs unfolded on the hill facing the stage.
Cartons of wine purchased from the gift shop joined picnic coolers for the evening meal. A menu of aromas included barbecued chicken, herbed potato salad, spicy shrimp and fragrant peach cobbler. Conversation and laughter blended freely among strangers.
Loose-fitting shirts, flowing pant legs and loafers worn without socks outfitted the guests for beach music and nostalgic oldies tunes. With a burst of brass, keyboard and drums, the music began. Evening sun settled into pastel shades of the summer solstice.
From the start, dancers behaved differently. Partners held each other instead of gyrating in opposite directions. Couples gazed into each other’s eyes with the infatuation of teenagers. Smiles and sing-a-longs became symptoms of a chronic condition. Maybe the canopy of open sky inspired romance. Perhaps the influence of the vineyard’s finest products ignited an old flame. No doubt memories surged in harmony with a mellow saxophone. Dancers left the floor in waves while an influx of reserves joined the host of swaying, pivoting bodies.
Twilight faded into darkness accompanied by a few final tunes. In an encore performance, a cloud of fireflies drifted upward in pyrotechnical wonder. Their blinking lights escorted the exiting crowd.
The soft refrain of a signature beach tune, “My Lady Soul,” lingered in the air.
With a magic of its own, Petit Verdot Two Five Nine, a vintage blend, warmed the night.
Ruth Varner won first place in an amateur writing competition for Lake Murray Magazine in 2007. The award encouraged her focus on writing short stories and poems which have been published online, in newspapers and recently included in The Art of Medicine in Metaphors and A Sense of the Midlands. Her nonfiction aims to preserve and share the best in everyday experiences.
