Dangerous Compassions

farm morning

Such wonderful fruits can grow in the desert.  The apricots were so ripe, we ate them right away off the tree.  The few we bought turned to mush in the bag.  The peaches are delicious to the point of religious experience.  The long plums aren’t ready yet.  We found just a few of those trees while wandering the rows.

We saw the honey bees sign then saw the bee boxes, which are my favorite thing.

Bee box selfie for Mom.

“Let’s pick four peaches, five tomatoes, and three cucumbers,” said on the way there turned into wandering the orchard for an hour, first searching for unadvertised magical green pluots, then eating ripe apricots blushed with red, then marveling at all the beautiful peaches.

As for the tomatoes, I was skilled at seeing a good red one nestled in the greenery.  I was getting too much sun and we skipped the cukes, quitting while we were ahead.

My joke was: “Let’s go to the free all-you-can-eat fruit bar–I mean Gilcrease.”  I believe you’re allowed to munch fruits as you pick.  But I was afraid there was a pluot cam and an alarm would go off. 

Beep, beep!  You have eaten your fifth pluot.  You will now be ejected from the orchard.

Then a big trebuchet robot would gently lift me up and catapult me across the street and into the parking lot.  I would land safely on a deep pile of soft feathers and wake up, asking, “Where am I?” with the perfume of magical green pluot on my breath and pluot skin stuck in my teeth, my fingers sticky with the juice of stone fruits, and farm dust on my feet.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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