100 When I Was Growing Up Stories
A Fruit-filled Life
Prompt#16 Fruit
This week I struggled to find something to write about on the topic of fruit. And then my husband came home with strawberries, grapes, and something called plumcots. As I wrestled trying to pull the sticky barcode off the plumcot, I fondly recalled the days of barcode-free fruits and vegetables.
I grew up seeing the buds appear on the fruit trees each spring. The buds would soon turn into blooms, and then I watched and waited for the blossoms to turn into the fruit I would eat. Because of this, I became intimately connected with the pears, apples, grapes, and elderberries that grew on our farm.
This week the closest I came to this feeling was buying strawberries from our local farm stand. I know the owners of this stand. Our sons were the best of friends growing up. My son’s first job was picking strawberries at their farm.
I did appreciate the grapes my husband brought home as I added them to my yogurt this morning. However, I have no idea where they came from; someplace far away from New England, I’m sure.
On our farm, we had a wild fox grapevine that curled around an old birch tree. Grapes are an important late-season source of nutrients for birds, bears, and hungry school girls. I relished coming home from school on a warm September afternoon, climbing up into the tree, and eating grapes to my heart’s content.
I never thought about who planted the two apple trees on the edge of the back pasture. Could it have been Fred Currier, the man we bought the farm from, or possibly a member of the Witcher family who settled the farm and now lay buried on the hill across the way?
Whoever it was, I owe them a debt of gratitude for planting those trees. The result was a great climbing tree and apples aplenty. After we ate our fill, we turned the remaining apples into pies, crisps, and apple sauce to see us through the winter.
Speaking of winter, it was a treat to find a peanut butter and elderberry jelly sandwich waiting for me in my school lunch box on a cold January day.
The previous summer’s recollection of spending an eternity stripping thousands of tiny berries from its stems became a distant memory as I bit into that sandwich.
Fruit is an expression of generosity, and my parents were generous people by nature. They were always quick to respond to anyone who needed their help. But unfortunately, they could not give financial assistance during the farm years.
However, the pear trees always grew more fruit than we could eat or can for the winter. I recall my parents looking very pleased when friends would stop by the farm and pick a bag or two of pears.
I just read online that pears are an ancient symbol of love and separation. I loved every inch of our farm. Growing up, I never thought there would come a time when I wouldn’t roam those woods and fields. Or come a time when I wouldn’t witness the yearly miracle of pears. But, of course, as a child, I also thought that my parents would live forever.
When I bite into the first ripe pear of the season this year, I will remember those days growing up on the farm. Hopefully, it will be barcode-free pear.
With Love & Energy by the Pond,
Laurel
