There is something I love about where I live, I don’t live in suburbia (Disturbia) but I live far enough out from the city I have plants and rosebushes in the front yard. I even have a lawn and a Nature strip.
But most important, I have a peach tree in front of my bedroom window.
Without a doubt towards the end of Winter I will open my bedroom blinds every day to watch the slow-motion nature documentary of the blossoms forming, then opening, being open for what seems like only days before a Spring rain hits and a gust of wind blows it all away.
The blossoms are replaced by green buds from the leaves. The fruit arrives, but they never get a chance to grow to their potential as the locals come and pick the tree clean, before I get any.
I have been in bed (on a rare occasion) before midnight and turned out the lights to hear two girls dump a plastic tub down on the ground while exclaiming “Oh my God!” because they can’t believe how much fruit there is.
I’ve crawled out of bed, moved around to the window and growled “Scram!”
Others come at 5pm while I’m lying on my bed in the afternoon having my coffee and they fill their huge grocery bags.
Do you think anyone knocks on my door during daylight? Because if they asked, I would say yes and tell them they’re not ripe and that they’re the type of peaches you peel, chop up and boil before baking them into something.
One year my yield was three bags that went into the freezer. I gave a bag to my sister who told me some time later she found it in her freezer and threw it out!
Why do I bother?