Vines once rooted themselves there. But they got too old and diseased. They no longer produced.
They were pulled up.
I drove by this plot not too long ago and was momentarily shocked to see it fallow and empty. Unproductive. But I remembered the vineyard well, but only as an old vineyard. I never saw it in its youth. I bet it was brilliant.
I thought about this vineyard while driving back home today with my wife after burying my mother. Alverna Mae was 38 when I was adopted. So I don't recall her in her youth either. But I'm pretty sure she was brilliant.
The beauty of fallow ground where vineyards once stood is its potential, of course. The possibility that the ground will again support vines that will bear grapes that will become wine that represents the ground.
The beauty of a lost parent recently buried lies in part in the potential represented by those they helped raise up. My job is clear.