The Grape People

We shook hands with the members of the board: Rural Water District No. 4, Miami County Kansas, “You folks are the Grape People aren’t you?” One asked.

Visions of tribes, clans, moieties swelled up in my mind and I pictured my high school friend who is a teacher in the Four Corners area who caused one student to have to go through a “cleansing” ceremony for participating in pithing a frog in biology class, a clear breach of tribal traditions. I looked around at the other people in attendance: Those over there are the Cattle People; those, the Alpaca Clan, there is old Ewalt of the Haying People, and over there the Kitchen Clan of the Horse People. But in front of us was the most powerful clan of all, The Water People. We had all sat in abeyance as they conducted the Water Ritual, filling the Pump Room of the Waterhouse with their water jargon that filtered down upon us like so much rain. Outside we could hear the water running in the ditches of the gravel road turning some of it to mush and mud that coated our vehicles. They told us not to worry; that they had everything in control with regard to water and I suddenly felt better knowing that the normally dry creek by our place would not flood the road.

“Yes,” my wife said, “We are the Grape People, the Vinedressers. We prune away that which does not bear fruit, and that which bears fruit we prune even more to produce the best and most fruit of the vine. From that fruit we make the wines and from the wines we bring mirth and dancing and good health.”

“Spoken like the true High Priestess of the Grape People,” I thought, even as I heard the grumblings from the far right of the room where the others had gathered.

“Aye, they bring with them their troubles and their kind that drink and run amok amongst the hills. We need to stop them before we all succumb to their madness.” The Chief of the Horse Clan spoke.

“Aha,” I thought, “So they are vulnerable, as most everyone is to the pleasures of Bacchus.” I felt like we were being stared at and realized that it was our clothes. “They must think we are lawyers.” I returned their stares and noticed their mud-stained Carhart jackets and gum-rubber boots. We just didn’t fit into this potato eater scene even though we wanted to fit, we just didn’t realize how different we looked to them. A couple of them approached and deigned to shake our hand and then back off, making me wonder if we didn’t have more power than the Water People. So it is with tribal systems, juxtaposition of power leads to alignment of groups, oftentimes not on commonalities but on a need to exert energy in a manner that will best benefit the tribe.

The Princess of the Elk People approached, boldly offering her hand, gripping mine with a certain fierceness and looking me straight in the eyes. I nearly had to look away but held. In her other hand was a small elk bone whistle which she offered me. “Take this, it will keep the birds away from your grapes.”

We walked out of the meeting dwarfed by the Tower of Hydrogen that gave the Water People their power. “Did you enjoy the meeting, honey?” my wife asked.

“Oh yeah, it was a hoot. I need to review Levi-Strauss’ totemic moieties structuralism when we get home.”  I blew a note on the bone whistle and we walked into the fog.