…”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.
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.