By Linda Nusbaum
Special to the Signal Tribune
Sometimes it’s hard for us to just be satisfied with what we have. There’s always something else we could acquire to make our lives better. But if we just stopped looking for more and just stayed in gratitude for what’s already in our lives we might feel pretty good.
And that’s how I feel when I look at the aging apricot tree in our back yard. The tree was probably planted in the late ’40s when the house was built. We’ve been in the home for ten years and have observed the tree ever since. Some years we get apricots, sporadically popping out with no uniformity at all, beautiful orange dots contrasting next to the bright green leaves and dark bark. The fruit is delicious, the sweetest, most perfect apricots ever.
And some years the tree bares no fruit at all. We never know what the season will bring. As we sit in the back yard on cool summer evenings and gaze at the tree, we consider how it could probably use a trim and maybe that will help produce more fruit. We talk about getting the tree pruned. We’ve done it once.
This year we talked about it again. Sitting outside looking at the tree we decide the old apricot tree may be just too tired to continue to produce. But the tree is beloved by my husband and me and he says he likes looking at it so we’ll keep it even if it becomes barren.
So I resigned myself to an off year, no apricots. But something happened the next time I went into the back yard. There, dotting the rich green tree were specks of orange.
“Bennett!” I exclaim. “Come quick and look!”
He steps outside and I announce, “Apricots! We have apricots.”
Overnight they came, ten, maybe twenty, beautiful, full-bodied apricots. Bennett begins to reach the high ones, (he’s tall). “They’re not quite ready yet, maybe another day or two.”
“Try this one!” I say, imploring him to test another. “This one is ready.”
We find another ripe one and he picks them. And then we stand there, next to the tree, eating the best apricots in the world, so sweet, so perfect.
The back yard now feels magical. The summer feels rich with possibilities. There’s goodness in the back yard and I am so excited, six-year-old excited. And so is the dog, a nearly toothless 13-year-old dachshund.
The next day, as the dog and me go into the backyard, he speeds along the grass to the apricot tree and inhales two dropped pieces of fruit. They are consumed in seconds. I decide I can’t leave the apricots on the tree any longer. I must harvest them. NOW! I stand on a chair and get a stick. I knock them all down and bring them inside.
Our crop, sixteen in all. They’re beautiful. Some are damaged from falling. I know they will taste fine. I eat three of them together, an apricot meal.
Thank you, you dear old apricot tree. I don’t need one hundred pieces to know what a blessing you are to my life. You are magnificent and I celebrate you.
