Accidental hippie

pear
Hacienda pear.

I CAME OF age in the 1960s, heyday of the hippies, but I never was a hippie. Didn’t suit my personality.

So it feels strange now that I am harvesting organic pears, tons of them, more pears than we can easily dispose of.

We don’t do anything to make them organic. We don’t fertilize with donkey poop. We don’t light incense. We don’t smudge. We don’t howl at the moon on summer nights.

It’s what we don’t do that makes them organic.

We do nothing.

We have a pear tree that is perhaps 25 feet high in the yard. It was already planted when we purchased the property. We also have a sour orange, a peach and a loquat. But it’s the pear that provides most Hacienda fruit.

Some years the peach gives the pear a run for its money, but the peach is unpredictable. Some years, nada.

The pear is steady, reliable.

We pick up and haul away incredible quantities of pears.  We give them to relatives, amigos and acquaintances.

You will notice two things about our pear:

One, it’s not shaped like a pear. Two, it’s butt-ugly. Of course, being butt-ugly adds to its modish allure. It would likely warrant a high price at Whole Foods.

You’d want to buy brie and skinny crackers.

In spite of its shape and a face like Danny Trejo, it’s quite tasty. I ate the one in the photo after snapping the picture.

Felipe Zapata: organic pear farmer and accidental hippie.

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(Note: Photo is the first here with my Fujifilm Finepix F850exr, a sweetheart of a pocket camera with a 20X zoom.)

31 thoughts on “Accidental hippie”

  1. A wannabe hippie….there are no coincidences *smiley face*. I mean, really? You go off and move to Mexico and set up house with a child bride on a mountaintop. And eat pears. Sounds like a hippie life to me.
    Oh, you should put a warning on that link to Danny Trejo; too early in the morning for a face like that!

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  2. You’re not fully hippie until you start making things with the pears, getting yourself truly back to the earth. You could start out easily making pear jam, pear butter, pear sorbet, dried pears, pear liqueur, pear vinegar (trendy, but trending toward last year), and maybe even pear-scented salt (very this year). Or you could even branch out into pear soap.

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    1. Ms. Shoes: That you know what is trending this year and next year and last year I find very, very disturbing. As for making stuff with my pears, I will do no such thing. It could be a slippery slope.

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  3. Do you peel those pears before eating them? I love a good ripe pear to eat, but man the rough complexion on those puppies shuts down my taste buds.

    If you have a juicer, you can mix your pears with your peaches and maybe throw in some honey dew or cantaloupe for a real tasty drink.

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    1. Jeff: I eat my pear like a man. I do not peel. And we do have a juicer, a quite good one. I might have to follow up on your suggestion. Thanks.

      My wife brought our juicer out of hibernation just yesterday for an entirely different project. Quite a coincidence. Serendipity.

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  4. We had a mango tree in the yard of the first house we rented in P.E. Coincidentally, it was right behind the condo we bought. Mexicans seem to think that any source of food is fair game, and they would come into the yard and pick up mangoes, climb onto the second floor of the condo and pick them, the same with the lime trees in the front yard. I didn’t mind them hitting the mango like a herd of locusts though. There were literally tons of them, and when they dropped on the roof and started to ferment and rot, it would make your eyes water.

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    1. Kris: Funny you should mention this. Just a few moments ago we were downstairs eating lunch. I happened to look out the big adjoining window and saw a pitchfork reach over the wall from next door to snare a few of those pears. These are the extremely sourpuss neighbors, so that’s pretty nervy.

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      1. I had a friend in P.E., a rather outspoken Italian who built a house in a subdivision that was formerly a mango orchard. He had 3 trees inside his lot, surrounded by a 10 ft. wall. He had people on the roof of his house and used a slingshot to chase them out on a daily basis during the season. Eventually he cut the trees down, also for the problem of the tree crap in his pool.

        There was one paved road through the subdivision that had a line of mango trees in it that you had to go around

        You have to love a place where a tree is more than than traffic.

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  5. Some blue cheese with those pears would be just the right combination. Slap the adjective “heirloom” on them and you could become a Whole Foods supplier. Of course, you would then start saying nice things about Bernie. Talk about your slippery slopes.

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    1. Señor Cotton: Heirloom! Now why didn’t I think of that? I’m a farmer of organic, heirloom pears. I can see myself dealing stiff competition to Harry & David in the not-so-distant future. Thanks for the leg up.

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      1. Next stop: a flavor of Ben and Jerry’s named after you. Something like “pearamid scheme,” along with a Birkenstock franchise in your village. Man, you will be cool. And I can say I knew you when.

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  6. First of all, your hair is too short to be a hippie, and you never built your Temazcal you were talking about some years ago. For that matter, not even a hot tub for those communal enlightenments.

    Lucky you have a pear tree. It’s way too cold for us up here to grow much fruit. You might try dehydrating them. Slice them first. They make great snacks and will last a real long time. You can use your oven if you don’t have a tabletop dehydrator.

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    1. Tancho: I keep my locks relatively short in part so I will not be mistaken for a geriatric hippie. God knows we have too many of them around here already.

      As for the temazcal, it has not been taken off the maybe list. It wouldn’t cost all that much to build one, surely less than the bakery kitchen we constructed for my child bride. Stay tuned. I already have a location in mind.

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    1. Señor Goodson: The hippie era in which I spent my young adulthood was a very specific time and mindset, a generation that’s affecting American life down to today, and not in a good way to put it mildly. I really don’t buy this millennial business. It’s easy to take any arbitrary 20-year period and stick a label on it. It doesn’t really mean it’s any different from a 20-year period that began five years earlier or later. People just like to feel they’re part of something.

      Of course, I could be totally off-base. It happens.

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