That's pretty enough to make one temporarily forget the likely maintenance interference.
They say we don't have autumn out here in California, but this time of year, when the low afternoon sun catches the leaves of the vineyards of Napa and Sonoma county turning, I'm not sure what it is we're missing.
That's gorgeous.By the way, count your lucky stars that the local avian population turn up their beaks at the grapes. A pyracantha bush beautifies the spot where I was previously obliged to park, and whenever the berries matured, the scrub jays would gobble them in a feeding frenzy over 2 or 3 days and dive-bomb my car until its entire surface was painted with gritty, blood-red splashes of poorly metabolized pomes.It's like if Earl Schieb took it upon himself to combine the ordinarily discrete pasttimes of fecalphilia and paint-ball.
You dount eat scuppernongs? Or juice them? Or anything??? Dang, and here I thought you had some sense.
Well, Ron, in my defense, these don't ever get any bigger'n a pimple, either.
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