Wild Grapes

Each October for several years now, right around the Canadian Thanksgiving weekend, I pick the wild grapes that grow along our fence. I turn them into juice that is then used as our communion juice at Burning Bush Forest Church (and will be used at Wilmot Forest Church, too). It is a practice of gratitude, and a gift of grace, to have juice that comes from the "wild." I did not plant these grapes, and they are definitely not a cultivated variety. I rarely prune them, but every October they offer enough small little clusters to put away juice for worship. Below is my ode to wild grapes!

Wild Grapes
I open the door to the 
wide, wild, world;
crisp October air washes my face,
fresh and surprising,
awakening me to this day.
Wild vines sprawl along an
urban fence line; who planted them -
human? bird? - no one knows.
Through summer months
tendrils stretched and grasped 
for the sun, reaching further
and further, claiming new
territory each day.
Once vibrant green leaves 
alive with purpose now 
a yellowing and limp tangle. 
I move slowly, methodically,
along the row,
the vines playing a game
of hide and seek with their
tiny deep purple clusters.
Hands stained, 
fingers numb,
bowl filled,
ample left behind for 
other foragers, my heart
offers thanks for this small harvest,
grateful for this miracle,
this gift of the earth.
My mind jumps ahead
to jars of jewel-hued liquid
that will be poured out in worship,
poured out as an act of love for all.
The wild Christ,
present in the elements,
juice and bread; 
in light, earth, water, and wind,
in rituals that transform us
and unite us with all that
was and is and ever shall be.

- Wendy Janzen, 2019