My mother and father, Nebraska natives and Dust Bowl survivors, moved to Colorado when my dad secured a teaching job in Denver, where I was born in 1944. My dad purchased a half-acre plot in a suburban development west of the city and set about building a rambling stone ranch house.
He and my mom labored for years to create a garden landscape to surround the house. The anchor of their garden was the large grape vineyard bordering the backyard. Three kinds of grapes thrived in the vineyard: Niagara, sweet and dusty green; Kyoho, tasting like cotton candy and almost brown in color; and my favorite, sweet, purple Concord grapes.
