Many of the plantings in our yard are passalongs from family and friends. Our kids used to joke that while other people planted shrubbery, I planted “sticks.” So, when we landscaped our yard here at the beach-house-not-on-the-beach, we potted our sticks and then replanted them in new beds in the fall. One stick, I was certain, was a flowering almond from my mother’s yard. We planted it by the side fence where it grew rapidly in a most untidy manner, limbs sticking out over the path and taking up more than the space we had alloted. It was so-o-o-o not like my mother’s pretty flowering almond.
When our neighbor mentioned one day last summer that, “Your tree has PEACHES!” we were as surprised as those strange women who are baffled when a baby suddenly falls out during a trip to the bathroom and they’ve been thinking it was just a touch of indigestion for all those months. Tree? We hadn’t even acknowledged that it was a tree. We thought of it as an unruly bush.
My apologies, Surprised Baby Mommas.
The peaches disappeared before they ripened, so we didn’t get any and don’t know who did, but the squirrels and the cardinals were looking guilty and pointing at each other the next time we came to town.
This year, there were so many peaches on the tree that I forgave it for not being a flowering almond. We had a crop growing on that tree!
Word spread quickly and uninvited guests began arriving. They came with jaws packed, here for the long haul.
I started finding unripe peaches on the ground. It didn’t take a forensic scientist to determine the origin of the bite marks in them.
We also had some invited guests last week–our friends Beanie and Hoot came to visit and shake their tail feathers at the beach for a few days.
One morning, Beanie looked out the window and said, “There’s a squirrel out there and he’s eating something BIG!”
I’d like to say that I don’t give a fig. . .
But I’m pretty sure I will, as soon as they polish off the peaches.