The Joy of the Grape Arbor - Dr. Ed Iannuccilli
Dr. Ed Iannuccilli, Contributor
The Joy of the Grape Arbor - Dr. Ed Iannuccilli
Our deep brown and ivory three-decker house was located on Wealth Avenue in a congested middle-class neighborhood in Providence. In the rear yard was the grape arbor, situated at the end of the long driveway, and separated by a tall hedge from my grandfather’s vegetable garden.
Wooden poles with the roots of the vines starting at each corner and twisting to the top, anchored the arbor. The vines covered the rectangular wooden crossbars creating the rooftop that shaded us on sweltering summer days. Radiant streaks of sunlight floated through. Grandpa attached two benches to the poles along the longest lengths. Bunches of bluish-purple grapes hung in succulent clusters everywhere.
GET THE LATEST BREAKING NEWS HERE -- SIGN UP FOR GOLOCAL FREE DAILY EBLASTLate in the summer, my grandfather picked them and carried them with care to his cellar wine press. My guess is that he supplemented those grapes with boxes he bought at the farmer’s market to make enough wine to last the winter.
The grapes were wonderful to eat directly from the vine or to throw during our grape fights. It was under the arbor that I lost my first and only boxing match.
I loved the arbor because I was certain that someone would be sitting under it when I jaunted down that driveway, either at lunchtime or at the end of the school day. It was as if they were awaiting me.
That retreat was the first thing I saw when I rounded the corner. At noon, there was my great-grandfather who sported the enigmatic name, Sho. Sho did little more than sit and sleep under the arbor. When it was time for his lunch, my grandmother would ask me to summon him in Italian, for that was all he understood. "Ed-a-Wood, you tell-a to Sho Van gopp e man-jah," which I promptly did, and which resulted in one of his few moves.
The arbor was the center of activity; eating, of course, was one of them. Grandma centered a long table and draped it with a flowered tablecloth. Vincenzo's wine accompanied the pasta. As we sat, I could not help but notice how happy our family seemed, and how much they enjoyed their food. Perhaps the epitome was when I saw Grandpa slice a peach into his glass, pour the wine and slurp it all with love.
Early evening get-togethers lingered late into the night, long after the children were sent to bed. Because my third-floor bedroom overlooked the arbor, I was lulled to sleep by the laughter and steady hum of the voices below.
As I reflect on those wonderful years, I realize that the arbor symbolized good times, family and friends, comfort, and belonging. If I close my eyes, I can smell the grapes and hear the chatter.
Under the arbor, with the security of family, lay the essence of my childhood.