Finger Lakes Day Three: Grapes, Glass, Rain, and Pumpkins

Hermann J Wiemer Vineyard

1 October 2016

We woke to more dreariness on the lake. I took a walk to take pictures of the geese and gulls, and to find a tree branch to hang from so that I could stretch my back.

One of the decoy owls had been moved away from the lake, to the back of the hotel grounds. Too little too late, I think. It was surrounded by gull feathers.

I could see feathers on the lawn where gulls were hanging out across the inlet.

As we were preparing to leave for the day, rain came in across the lake.

Our first vineyard stop was Shaw Vineyards on Seneca Lake. Jack was sampling red wines, which all taste like barf to me, so I walked around taking pictures.

Steve Shaw, the winemaker, was in the tasting room. I asked him a lot of novice questions about soils and grape sugar content and the year's drought. He was pleasant and patient with his answers. Jack rescued him by asking more reasonable questions.

A mile or so up the road, we'd passed this sculpture. And here we thought the blue bottle evil spirit catcher was owned by Hopewell, New Jersey.

Hmm...  Maybe that sculpture was at the foot of Mr Shaw's driveway. At the side of one of the winery outbuildings, I found this:

And this. Be glad Blogger doesn't have a "smell this" feature.

Next up, a mile down the road, Hermann J Wiemar Vineyard, which was so crowded that Jack had to wait outside (this is when I drove back to Shaw to get pictures of the blue bottle bins). He was working on a flight of Rieslings when I got back. I helped decide which ones to buy. For the record, none was barfy.

Pumpkins. Right. It's October now.

It was a 45-minute drive from the middle of the eastern side of Seneca Lake to the center of Corning. We were hungry, so we ate at a hipster pub. I had a salad that put Moosewood to shame, and I got two tiny sampler pours of sour beer (they taste like funky Rieslings) that hey didn't charge me for and which I almost finished. That's the most beer I've ever drunk in my life.

The Corning Museum of Glass was holding a Glass Farmers Market, where real pumpkins and gourds were nestled among hundreds of glass pumpkins and crates of real apples.

The first time I blew glass was two years ago, in the fall, in Boston. We had a choice of pieces we could make, one of which was a pumpkin. I had no use for a glass pumpkin then, and I had no use for one now. Still, I wandered among the baskets.  "If there were a purple pumpkin..." I thought. There were several. I exited the tent post haste and we went into the museum.

Last year I took pictures of the glass. This year, I decided to take pictures of shadows of the glass.

This is a deliberately broken chandelier, the color of blood, with crows feasting on the shards.

I was having fun taking pictures that weren't revealing the entire objects.

How do people do this?

A flat, curved glass forest reflecting the windows behind me no matter where I stood, dagnabit.

The Blaschkas!  700 pieces on loan from Cornell University!

This is a sea cucumber:

"Constellation Necklace" by Kristina Logan, whose beads I have made jewelry from and sold, and whose beads I still own I covet. I can't afford her work anymore.

Consult your doctor:

The "Inspired by Blasckha" hot glass demonstration went from zero to fish in less than half an hour:

Yes, I know it's upside-down. Taking pictures of spinning glass is not easy, people.

The hot glass artists' Blaschka inspirations:

The museum was about to close, but the market was open longer. The pouring rain was beginning to seep under the edges of the tent as I wandered among pumpkins. If I see a purple one. But it has to be the right kind of purple.

In the end, I did, indeed, succumb to purple pumpkin pressure. The one I'm bringing home is the only one I found that had a little green leaf on its stem. It's a purple pumpkin with 'zazz. And I have absolutely no use for it.

Outside, the rain mixed with fog against the hills: