I’m canning apricots at my brother’s house. After 15 fruitless years, his tree sends down a cascade of orange orbs. We take buckets and boxes into the corner of the orchard where the tree droops with its burden and pick only the ripening fruit. Western Kingbirds and Bullock’s Orioles have already added the tree to their list of dining possibilities. They know a ripe apricot when they see one, and the sweetest fruits are incised with ragged papaya-colored canyons. Black-chinned Hummingbirds are more circumspect, sipping nectar through tiny holes they have punctured with the thin needle of their bill. After three boxes of apricots, the tree hardly notices that we’ve been there.
Thank you, Tom. Your expressions of love for your mom and the process of annual canning touch my heart with such familiarity. It is the way we feel and what we do. Big hugs.
Returning from travels to at last read your apricot sweet ode to your mother. I can attest to the sweet melt-in-your-mouth quality since I was a fortunate recipient (thanks to Kim) of some of the tree's surreal bounty. So much love there, even the way you place each apricot so carefully in the jar, and I loved the scene where you showed the jar to your mother in her last days... Heart is with you my friend and as always swept away by your prose. Humming that Greg Brown song I love.. swap apricots for peaches...
Thank you, Tom, for reaching for beauty amid sadness. It is the lifetime we inhabit; at least think it’s the highest aim in it. I’m glad you took on the apricot project, too.
Tom,
Thank for these words, so beautifully crafted into story as clear in my mind’s eye as a Spring rain falling on Purple Columbine.
Writing about events like this, you connect the immediate with the eternal. More hugs.
Thank you, Tom. Your expressions of love for your mom and the process of annual canning touch my heart with such familiarity. It is the way we feel and what we do. Big hugs.
Beautiful, Tom. A perfect tribute to your mom.
Beautiful! I love orange in the Autumn. And summer. What a lovely tribute to your mother!
Returning from travels to at last read your apricot sweet ode to your mother. I can attest to the sweet melt-in-your-mouth quality since I was a fortunate recipient (thanks to Kim) of some of the tree's surreal bounty. So much love there, even the way you place each apricot so carefully in the jar, and I loved the scene where you showed the jar to your mother in her last days... Heart is with you my friend and as always swept away by your prose. Humming that Greg Brown song I love.. swap apricots for peaches...
Peaches on the shelf
Potatoes in the bin
Supper's ready, everybody come on in
Taste a little of the summer
Taste a little of the summer
You can taste a little of the summer
My grandma's put it all in jars
Thank you, Tom, for reaching for beauty amid sadness. It is the lifetime we inhabit; at least think it’s the highest aim in it. I’m glad you took on the apricot project, too.