When we first saw the property on which we now live, lovely white blooms were set against emerging green foliage, the tree of which graced us with thumb-sized plums of the right color but whose pits were nearly as large as the fruits! The leaves shaded one end of the drive and a portion of the master bedroom.
The dogs began to eat the fruit—pits and all—as soon as they fell ripe. You can imagine this was a painful lesson and one the dogs repeat at the first available fruit of each year. I also discovered the leaves were shot with holes, bugs and disease. The first year was enough. I wanted something that didn’t seed itself everywhere the chipmunks buried its fruit.
My husband wouldn’t hear of cutting down the tree, commonly called a pioneer plum. We added a Frost Peach and two Rainier Cherry trees near the plum. Sure enough, the pests infecting the plum thought our new additions were tasty.
With a redwood core and bark meat sandwiching a golden ring, the wood will make great art pieces as well as a sampling of plum-smoked edibles. Long live the cherries (and the peach)!
Some days I am crying and alternately on the verge of tears, what doctors would label an eight out of ten, with ten being the worst pain.
Physical pain is an amnesiac. Continue reading
I came across this post today and felt serious resonance. I dare not list all my hobbies and I’ve determined I have to cull the space-intensive ones as there is no opportunity to put a new Sandra’s Hobbies wing on the house.
I’m strongly curious. Often I can’t settle for admiring a hobby; I must put my hands in it and on it.
At the risk of adopting more for myself, what are some of your hobbies?
He supposes I have the patience of a saint. Let me tell you about the meal I burned in saintly impatience today.
Oh, oh, and oh. I’ve been given two gifts today, this the latter.
However commonplace the title of Broken might be, I am lifted by
“…with a willingness to die.”
Rich. A relief of a destiny at hand. Soul station found and dialed in.
Three short stories in and I’m closing the Nook. I enjoy reading; I am a writer. One love does not diminish the other, only informs it.
I lost an adult lifetime of writing somewhere in the ones-and-zeroes of computer files. Journal, fiction, nonfiction, poetry—all of it is gone.
Before admonishments for digital redundancy march up through the comments, Continue reading