As autumn
slowly crept forward the summer months seemed as strong as the golden corn that
had recently been cut. We raced to our grandmothers to relish in her sumptuous
warm cakes and endless love. I was the youngest of our group, two cousins and
me. Only 6 years old I understood fully the importance of how to properly
adventure in my grandmothers garden. The delightful cooling landscaped pond sat
bubbling away, its waterfall an endless delight for the myriad of insects and
birds that visited its splendour.
The neatly trimmed flower beds, the swaying
rich scent of the lavender bushes wafting their fragrance over us all added to
our pleasure. Clearly defined borders marked the areas that were off limits to
us. We understood fully because we had seen the sumptuous colour and life of
the flowers over the previous summer. To venture into this area was sacrosanct
to us as children.
The
central focus of my grandmother’s garden remained a Victorian plum (Prunus
domestica 'Victoria') tree growing in puzzles of twisting weaving branches just
high enough, yet mature as a tree, to provide adequate room for a young boy or
two. As me and my cousins ran jumping over the white ceramic hexagonal tiles
that clearly indicated the footpath amongst the lush green grass we approached,
what would seem the dizzying heights of the plum tree with reckless abandon.
“Look
they’re ready!” cried my oldest cousin pointing to the tree, an obvious
authority on the ripeness of the Victorian plum. We gazed up and saw the lush
purple fruits covering the tree.
“Wow so
many” I whispered. The hot sun blazoned down upon our upturned faces. Two
dragonflies raced past us, their wings beating loudly as they scooted off to
the coolness of the garden pond.
My middle
cousin shouted “Let’s tell the adults!” and off he ran. Presumably gong to
fetch our parents and grandmother. Shortly
after they arrived at the plum tree carrying empty pots and baskets, we eagerly
jumped for joy running around the tree swooning over the Marguerite Daisies with
our arms as wings; the bees looked shocked but carried on regardless with their
busy hectic work schedule.
POO
Once we
had all gathered around the fruit-laden tree I began to climb the outstretched
branches. My light weight and agility made reaching the top branches extremely
easy. My parents seemed concerned but I was an adventurer, even my cousins
cheered as I continued to climb.
“Be
careful John watch your step” the kind protective words flew up from the ground
7 feet below. My father was always the continual guardian.
“Hold on
tight” my mother echoed.
My middle
cousin joined me; my older cousin too old to climb seemed more interested in
studying the wasps that had gathered on the fallen fruit below. I recall many
years later he told me the wasp was in fact a natural pest control eating many
other forms of insects. He always was a font of knowledge.
As I
climbed I noticed the sticky sap from the tree had captured a careless fly it
looked frozen in the golden solid sap. But I had no time to delay; I began to
pick the fruits gently passing them to my grandmother below. I knew in time she
would turn the delightful plums into the most delicious plum pies and jams,
handpicked by her loving grandson.
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