I’ve just picked the first apricots off the scraggly little tree in my yard. The entire crop will be about a couple dozen apricots – most will go to the birds. And that’s fine with me. But the taste of that real, that fresh apricot took me back to the wonderful tree that Dad planted at the family house in Lakeside, California.
Apricot tree in Lakeside backyard.
When I was planning to leave California and rent out the house, my nephew asked if I would be okay emotionally letting others live in the house that up until then had sheltered only family. My response was that I could let the house go, but I was a little choked up about leaving the apricot tree. It was about 35 years old, pruned to a perfect bowl shape and every year produced a huge crop of apricots. They were almost too fragile…
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