Race for the Plums

We have in our front yard these two, rather entwined, plum trees.

We planted them as itty bitty little sticks 6 years ago when we bought the house. They were a gift from one of Kaddee’s co-workers.

Last year, much to our surprise we got many beautiful plums. They are small “italian plums”. Two bite, free-stone. Very juicy.

I say “to our surprise” because we didn’t really pay any attention to the tree, because we weren’t expecting fruit.

This fall, we pruned it back.

This spring, we noticed that we had HUNDREDS of plums, not counting the dozens that have fallen before they were ripe, or those countless that were eaten by the birds and squirrels.

As I look out at the tree, the plums are almost ripe. They are very very close. We can almost taste them. They are almost the right shade of purple. They are almost soft enough to eat.

They sit on the tree, tantalizingly close. They are a light shade of purple. They smell wonderful. They are perfiectly shaped. The skins are unbruised. They taunt me.

I see them every morning on my way to work. I examine the tree to see if any are ready. I talk to the tree and the fruit, offering encouragement. “Time to rise and shine! Grow strong. We want just one plum each before we go.”

Every night when I come home, I examine the tree and the fruit. I whisper to it “time to rest for the night so that you can grow strong tomorrow. Sleep well.”
I refer to this as “the race for the plums.” We hope to win the race, insh’allah.

If not, the tree will be standing 2 years hence.

If we time our return just right, I hope to open the gate and pluck a plum from the tree, close my eyes and taste the flavors of home.

Now, if you will excuse me, I must go whisper to my tree..

Update: We have plums. Dozens! They drop from the tree, ripe and delicious.

We have eaten our fill. Feel free to come by and take a handful and taste what we call home.