Falling fruit, dead dogs & Mexico City

apple
A rare, intact apple from the neighbors’ tree.

THE CURSED fruit has begun its annual fruit-fall.

It started recently with the apples from the neighbors’ tree, the one that hangs over our wall. Next on the list was our pear, then the sour orange, and this morning I found the worst of all, the cursed peach.

All of that stuff has to be picked up by hand, my hands. It’s a nuisance.

I did find one apple this morning that must have just sailed over the Hacienda wall because it had not been gnawed by critters. Maybe I’ll eat it. It’s organic, of course, so I can feel smug in my battle against global warming.

Or something like that.

On a positive note, when January rolls around, that peach is gonna be history. It sits on a section of grassy yard that’s going to be turned into a beautiful patio. Gotta love concrete and stone.

Aside from that apple, all the fruit I scooped up this morning was toted down the street in a bucket and heaved into the customary ravine.

* * * *

A smelly surprise!

That’s when I encountered the surprise, not a pretty one.

I always throw my green garbage at the same spot on the ravine’s edge because it’s the most convenient place to set my feet.

There it was, just over the edge, not down in the ravine at all. A dead dog, and not just any little dead dog, not a chihuahua, not even a terrier or pit bull. It was a German shepherd. He smelled rank. Someone had tossed him there.

I’ll have to heave my green garbage farther up till he decomposes.

* * * *

Bound for the Capital City!

We’re off to Mexico City in a few days because something wonderful has happened.

We’re renting our condo there to a nephew who’s entering the prestigious Instituto Politécnico Nacional. He likely will be there at least five years.

I might be dead in five years.

Our condo is walking distance from the school, plus it’s furnished, even sports Van Gogh prints on the walls. The best part, however, is we won’t have to make periodic trips to the chaotic capital anymore, and we’ll earn a little cash.

We’ll be meeting the student and his parents there next week to hand over the keys. This makes me very happy.

 

Front & fruit

LAST EVENING, the wind blew, the wind chimes sang, and this morning dawned clear, beautiful and 65 degrees.

A front passed though, I think, but without rain.

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Guayaba

The wind also added to my morning fruit sweep. Curses! Every wind, it seems, brings an evil element.

I stepped outside around 8:30 a.m. and saw the grass littered with fallen fruit, more than usual due to the winds.

Big, fat pears all over the place. On the other side, tunas from the towering nopal tree littered the grass. Back to the other end, a new addition from the neighbors, guayabas.

They’ve long had an apple tree extending over the wall. It dumps apples, but not last night.

A guayaba tree now pokes over into our yard, tossing litter. There were scads of guayabas to be scooped up.

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Lots of care must be taken with the nopal tunas. They are covered with tiny spines that, in your skin, take days to remove. So, leather gloves with the tunas. I wonder why they’re named tunas. There’s nothing fishy about them except their attitudes.

Missing, thank the Goddess, were those apples, lowquats (not quite ripe) and sour orange. They stayed on their limbs.

All the fruit filled a big bucket, which I lugged heavily down the street and heaved into the deep ravine between the roadway and the railroad track.

That done, I could enjoy the lovely morning in peace.

The pear man

pears
Actual Hacienda pears. Ugly but tasty … and organic!

WHILE I HEARTILY dislike having a nasty peach tree in the yard, I don’t harbor any ill will toward the pears.

They are perfectly good pears in spite of the fact that I don’t eat them. My child bride, of course, gobbles them down as she does any fruit within her grasp.

And our pears are organic!

I miss a few things from above the Rio Bravo, food-related things. One is Harry & David. They sell great fruit, especially pears, and their pears are prettier than ours. The other thing I miss is the Collin Street Bakery, especially the fruitcake.

Costco in the capital city sometimes sells fruitcake, and I’ve yet to buy one. Perhaps I should. Most fruitcakes are crap. Perhaps you’ve heard there’s actually only one fruitcake in the world, and it gets passed from one gift recipient to another, eternally.

But the Collin Street fruitcake is excellent. It’s that second fruitcake, the one you can eat.

Most of the fruit trees in our yard were here when we purchased the property. There was also an English sheepdog-watchdog that the previous owner tried to give us, but we did not bite, so to speak. We remain dog-free.

I wish we were peach-free. The pears ain’t bad, however, and, as I said, they are organic!

 

Damnable fruit

Green peaches muscling up. This is just one of many sagging branches.

MY CHILD BRIDE and I agree on lots of stuff, but the damnable fruit trees are not in that category.

She loves them. Were I living here solo I would uproot them all. Why? I’m not much of a fruit eater, and these trees, which were here when we purchased the property, toss their wares on the grass en masse, and there they rot.

And who has to clean it up? It ain’t her.

The peach tree, first photo, is unpredictable. Sometimes its bounty is beyond belief. Other years it does very little. Alas, this year is one of the bountifuls.

Pears, not quite so abundant but bigger. And the tree is very tall.

And then there is the pear, the second photo. Its output is always the same, too bountiful for my tastes, but certainly less than the peach. By the way, I’m a Georgia-born boy, and I know peaches. These Mexican peaches are sorry versions.

Throughout the summer, every day I go out and scoop up fruit from the grass, most of which have been pecked by birds or gnawed by God knows what beasts roam by night.

It is not an enviable chore.

I add this last photo, the red-hot pokers, because I love them, and I want to end on a positive note. They offer beauty instead of bother, and that’s what you want in life, especially as you age.

And it’s also why I have a Mexican child bride.

Beauty, not bother. Except for “her” fruit trees.

Red hot pokers. Pretty and peaceful. A summer blessing.