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Nostalgia -- that bittersweet feeling we get when reminiscing about the past, about simpler times when the world was softer, warmer, fuzzier. It can be therapeutic to let your mind wander to some place where a really good thing happened.
In general, I try to avoid thinking about the past. For me personally, there is always the danger of a dark page popping even as I'm trying to hone in on an otherwise pleasant chapter. Or a reminder of a failed endeavor, or the dreams that never came true. And in general, there isn't much point in trying to square what happened back then with what is going on now.
However, after reading an article in the OBSERVER about the "economics of aging" in Chautauqua County, I feel obliged to engage in some nostalgia -- to jump into Mr. Peabody's wayback machine to see how things have evolved here in Concord Grape Country, USA over a few generations of economic transitions.
The earth around here loves fruits, and has always been especially rife with black raspberries and wild grapes. While there would never be a market for black raspberries (kind of homely, hairy, thorny, not very tasty), grapes have ruled the local agriculture on and off for a hundred years.
It was harvest time, 60 years ago, in the vineyard high on the hill above Grace Salhoff's farmhouse on Stockton Road. Clouds in various shapes and shades of grey swept across the October sky as we shivered in the thin, early morning air. Soon we would begin the slow walk down the leafy rows with our stained brown gloves and snippers, filling wooden crates with plump, sticky purple bunches.
Most memorable about those days was the arrival of migrant workers from Mexico and other countries south of the border. They were typically small in stature, with dark complexions, strangely expressive voices and speedy hands. To me, they were a mystery. To farmers, they were of the essence. While the weather, the market, and local labor were unpredictable, the traveling families of Hispanic workers were generally highly efficient and reliable.
Over the next two generations, however, there was a steady decline in the grape business. The demand tapered off, and more and more vineyards were abandoned. The colorful migrations of Mexicans also diminished as farmers struggled to avoid bankruptcy. To cut costs, farmers replaced human pickers with giant machines that looked like monster-insects from a sci-fi movie. It seemed that what had been a prized cash crop of Western New York was in big trouble.
Yet things would begin to change again a decade into the 21st century. The demand for grapes increased as wineries became "vogue." Big money was invested, and megafarms flourished across the land north of the Chautauqua Ridge/watershed to Lake Erie. The tourist industry took interest, and a kind of wine touring culture emerged, including music and arts. For the past fifteen years, it seems there has been a kind of grape renaissance.
But now it's in grave danger. The giant juice and beverage company Refresco has ditched the deal, canceling huge contracts with growers all across the region. The future of local wineries seems uncertain.
Northern Chautauqua county is at the economic crossroads again. While there is some economic hope for the future with a Wells-Ferrero expansion, along with a proposal for a nuclear site development, it seems we're lapsing into the familiar state of borrowing from Peter to pay Paul. Which brings me to the point: According to Office for the Aging Service Director Dana Corwin, Chautauqua County is the oldest county in the Universe! (OBSERVER, Aug. 15). And most of our senior citizens (including this writer) live in their own homes, at least for a while longer before some big "uh oh" moment.
So this means a lot of things. The first that comes to my mind is that, while the grape bizz may be dead on the vine, we coots, geezers, fogies, grumpy greybeards, blue tops, silver tops, yellow tops and bingo-wingers are down for business! We can't take it with us, so might as well spend what we got, or at least keep it here rather than send it to our fair-weather children who split to Florida or Arizona (It was too cold and boring here, so they went to where the action is -- wild fires, droughts, hurricanes, tornadoes...).
Let's support the business of aging. Invest in our local nurses, doctors and caregivers of all sorts -- therapists, radiologists, masseuses, blue hair dressers, bingo callers, wheelchair repairmen, musicians, thespians, painters, funeral home directors and morticians. Bring in the construction crews and build assisted living homes. Let's fast track that new fancy hospital. Add a stairway to heaven even! Keep the money flowing to those who help those in need! Take it from me, the Grape Sage!
Pete Howard, author of “Rosebud Dreamworld,” lives in Dunkirk.