Watching the bines grow without me

Walked the rows this morning and the hops are doing just fine without my hands in them. The kid who took over has his own rhythm now, and some of his trellising choices are frankly better than mine. I thought letting go would feel like a loss, but it's quieter than that — more like reading a book someone else wrote about a place you used to live. They don't need me, and somehow that's the proof I did it right.