Well, despite my optimistic predictions, the apricots are not what they were last year. Though they look beautiful from a distance, they are an up-close mess.
We picked quite a few before it got too hot this weekend. But we lost just as many to ugly bruising and all sorts of obnoxious critters.
David was up on the step ladder, and I was under the lower branches. Pick off a fruit, turn it around. If all looks well, drop it in the bag. If something comes crawling out, scream and throw it in the green waste bin.
Can you just imagine the smell? Like apricot times a thousand. Sticky, almost sickly sweet.
Oh, but who has time for canning fruit, anyway?
My Tia Mary wrote here that 30 was a lot of work, but worth it.
Worth it? I believe that. I definitely, definitely believe that. But more work than I had imagined. I know we will find a new balance. We will get back to cooking our own dinners and packing our own lunches and rescuing our fruit trees and making our jam.
And anyway, I have high hopes for the Meyer lemons and for the little cherry tree we planted just before Alice was born.
That poor Alice is sick with her first really miserable cold. It is awful to hear her coughing and to see her eyes go so watery. But, I must remind myself of what a healthy baby she has been and how lucky we are for that. (Because she really has been, and we really are). And it’ll all turn sweet again soon.