“there were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch”

…”Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.”

It’s hard to pick my pears and not think of Robert Frost, even if he was writing about apples.

As I pulled into the driveway this afternoon after work, the pear tree was glistening in the last bits of sun that find their way into the backyard. A sight like that is hard to ignore, so I grabbed my basket and got to work.

Pear gathering. You come, too.

Pear gathering. You come, too.

Tomorrow I'll get my ladder.

Tomorrow I’ll get my ladder.


Gorgeous. Delicious.

I guess I can’t quite say why this pear tree makes me feel so much, but it does. I think it’s something about a plant, taking only sunlight and water and whatever nutrients it can from the soil, and creating something that’s simultaneously life-giving (food for the birds, the chipmunks, and me) and self-preserving (gotta spread those seeds somehow). It’s a seasonal miracle, and it happens 100% without my intervention.

In other news, I can’t wait to turn all these little pears into: pear crisp, pear butter, pear sauce, and pear salads.

Happy Harvest!


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