While we were in England in May, Léonce wrote and said the local cherry harvest had been and gone. The fruit, thanks to the early heat wave, was wizened, dry, and had peaked far too early. We wrung our hands in displeasure at having missed the offerings from the two mighty cherry trees in our garden, and tried to forget about it.
On Tuesday, when we got back to Laroque, I went to the garden. And there were our trees, branches grazing the ground with the weight of their fruit. I started to pick. Five minutes later, it was raining. Stair rods. I scuttled home with some treasured cherries.
Wednesday morning dawned clear after a rainy night, and straight after breakfast we were up at the garden with buckets, eager to pick all that lovely fruit. Almost every single cherry had turned mouldy overnight. We managed to pick a few, half a bucketful. But back at home, they didn’t stand up to close inspection and we had to discard almost all of them. So that was that.
Now for the good news. In early spring, we bought a peach tree. We planted it. It prospered. It flowered. To give it the best start in life, so the tree would give its energy to putting down roots rather than nourishing its fruits, we removed every single blossom. Or so we thought.
We ought to pick it and throw it away I suppose, but we haven’t the heart. Come and visit us in August, and you might get a bite of our very first home-grown peach