Sunday evening in the middle of Irene, a young man knocked on the door and asked if he could climb in our backyard to take down some of the pears that remained on the trees in back. I said no because I knew just how hard the remaining fruit would be to get and I didn't want him to break his neck on our property. On Friday morning I spent nearly an hour perched on a laddler harvesting, and what remained was clearly out of reach.
He was the second person this year to ask about harvesting the pears: a woman up the street also asked if she could "get up on a little stool" and pick some. I told her my concerns about the dangers of what was left and brought her some that I'd sucessfully picked. As for the young man, I told him to take whatever was on the ground since the high winds were shaking loose some of the fruit on the highest branches.
All of this is rather strange, since the pear trees got zero care this year. We always get some fruit, and sometimes get more than the squirrels can eat, but this year there appears to be a bumper harvest. There are two that are ready to eat for lunch today (you pick pears a little green and then let them ripen,) and we'll appreciate them all the more, knowing that they are an unexpected, unearned. bonanza.
Photo: not this year's crop, I must admit, but the one three years ago which also was a good one.
No comments:
Post a Comment