Growing season is in full swing. Our fruit trees are budding and blooming and gearing up for the long grow over the summer until we reach the harvest moon. I’ve always loved that term, harvest moon. For me it reminds me of Fall, by far my favorite season. Something about cozy sweaters, turning leaves, warm tea, Halloween makes me happy.
Everyone one in the house gets excited about a different fruit. The kids, berries. Me, my lime tree. My SO the avocados and mangos. My SO’s commitment to their trees borders on biblical. Which is kind of funny because our climate isn’t the perfect one for such tropical plants. Some years we get good crops and other years nothing. Still my SO perseveres chasing squirrels and birds and doting over them like a parent.
By the time we get back from the mountains my limes will be about ready to pick. I’ll juice them into cubes and use them to cook and make cocktails. Next year I plan to get a Meyers lemon tree but I don’t plan on putting it in the ground. I love the idea of a tree growing in a pot. I don’t know why. It should seem sad, like it’s been trapped, but I feel the exact opposite. Like they flourish because they are loved and kept in a cozy bit of soil.
If we get avocados this year (and that’s a sketchy if), they will be the last harvest before Fall. And I’ll already have out my fuzzy slippers that sometimes double as shoes (I’m at that don’t give AF age) and sweaters and this house will be figuring out what to be for Halloween.
The march of time as they say, leaving a full bodied taste with a long pleasant linger.