Spring Pushing Through the Clouds

Once again it's pouring outside.  It was so lovely and sunny 30 minutes ago that I suited up for an afternoon jog.  Now here I sit in front of the computer screen, all dressed up and nowhere to go.

It's been a wonderful week in Adelaide.  At the sunny outset of the week, I was accompanied by great friends to McLaren Vale, the beach, and Barossa.  There's nothing like beautiful days to relieve all sorts of anxiety.  I finally feel like I'm getting a grip on the road that is unfolding for my life.  I'm very privileged to have all sorts of options available, though there's a certain terrible stress in the background: "Don't screw up the opportunity!"
I vacillate between extreme contentment with the blank book I get to fill and acute envy of friends whose path is set for them.  Two gentlemen I know, for example, are next in line to run their families' wineries in South Africa.  How empowering to live life with a sense of duty, directly tied to filial obligations.  "Golden handcuffs," they say.  I too feel responsible to honor my family, my college, my country.... but the "how" is so undefined.  My commission is to go do my "best," whatever that means.  It's not a quick and easy task when the whole wide world holds opportunities and places at which to excel.

We do the best with what we have where we are.

Yesterday was a memorable one.  We headed up to the Clare Valley for some wine tasting, completely ignoring the crazy storm raging up the land from Adelaide.  This has apparently been the coldest, wettest winter in two decades here, and the season clearly means to go out with a bang.  A thunderstorm lingered through Friday night, and by Saturday morning rivers were running high and roadside ditches were threatening to overload onto the bitumen.  But northwards through the fray we drove.  By 2pm, the spitting rain was streaking sideways in blustery wind, branches were flying everywhere, and water was gushing from all corners of the earth to the lowest points it could find.  We were sadly forced to leave the valley early because we simply couldn't turn off the main road or get to cellar doors.  Rivers had washed over the side roads, over bridges, and into the fields, making islands of vineyards.  I do wonder what effect all this water so late in the winter will have on vinous budburst and the coming vintage.