This is from my old winery blog, a tribute to a kind and gentle man I will always remember fondly. RIP, Art.
At 7 a.m. on a frosty Friday morning, Jim gently took his mother by the shoulders and asked her to look out the window. The vineyard canes were bare, the ground covered with a hoarfrost of snow.
“The buzzard tree,” she gasped. “It’s broken! Oh, it’s gone.”
For as long as Art and Lei Norman had lived in their home, a tall oak on the property had one large dead limb protruding from its crown. They called it ‘the buzzard tree’ because a flock of turkey buzzards gathered on the naked limb each morning and evening. And now apparently the limb was gone.
At four in the afternoon the day before, Lei had lost her husband, winemaker Art Norman. So the missing limb was doubly significant—a cruel affirmation of loss.