I remember beautiful, blooming crabapple trees from my youth... And they always make me think of my younger sister, who once ate a bunch of sour little crabapples and was subsequently introduced to ipecac syrup.
Yeah, that's right. In two sentences I went from nostalgia, to family, to induced vomiting.
Outside our back door at Cabbage Ranch, we have a pretty little pear tree. Every spring, about the time of Beep's birthday, it blooms abundantly with beautiful white flowers which smell so sweetly they lure hundreds of honeybees.
Which makes me wonder if it'll ever lure killer bees. In that case, we'll have to start using the front door. We'll also have to move, per the MNS.
But I digress... Right now, as usual (and despite the drought), the pear tree is growing these beautiful, perfect little pears.
They look lovely. Enticing. And they are all. over. the tree. Tons of 'em.
The first couple of years we lived at Cabbage Ranch, I was too afraid they'd be full of worms, so I didn't do anything with the pears. Last year, though, I had visions of cooking some pears for my baby, and freezing them, and being able to say "Oh, these pears? I made them from the tree in our backyard." How very locally sourced.
So I made a concerted effort to select some of the most beautiful fruits. I put them on a windowsill, rotated them, and coddled them.
One day, after a week or more, although they weren't overly soft, I carefully cut a couple open, sliced a sliver, and tasted it. It was like eating wax fruit. No flavor, no sweetness, and Katie no happy.
So here's the deal. I don't know what gives. I'm no arborist, and I'm certainly not a fruit farmer. I just know that stupid tree won't grow my baby any pears worth eating. And now I feel like it's taunting me with its still-life-worthy fruit.
Damn you, crabpear tree... You and your inedible fruits have triumphed.