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Plum Jam on the Sidewalk
You know it’s Midsummer when my plum tree drops her fruits on the hot sidewalk. They land already ripe and roll away. Splash.
Walkers make a bee line to the other side, especially the ones dressed in white. My plum tree waits for those who have forgotten her, and if they step below her tree she drops on them plums and stains their clothes and head.
I often wonder what kind of people planned Oakland. The city is planted generously with these decorative plum trees. They bloom first thing in the spring and look wonderful. I guess this is the reason the early Outlanders planted so many of them.
Suddenly I have parking space in front of my house, because the stain takes the paint off the cars if they get blessed with a few plums.
My old car is used to it, we don’t care about paint.
Blue jays come and eat the fermenting fruit and get drunk, They totter about, sometimes barely missing the traffic. But the god that protects fools and drunks seem to look after drunken blue jays as well. It shuts them up, too. Blue jays have a terrific chatter, especially if they are sassing a cat.
Lemons are ripe in the backyard. I eat them as much as I can. These are sweet lemons, Ponderosa, heirloom kind.
The two together would make a lovely pie.
It’s to hard to pick the plumbs – dangerous, too high. The branches are unreachable over the traffic. Baking a pie with them remains a plan. I think I need a wife.
