Pear season has begun. Aah, it brings back happy memories of last year. “Tomorrow the workers will stop work on your house to go and pick pears all this month,” said the builder.
“Oh. Right. Okay.”
We’re still renovating the house and the pear season is once again in full swing. The pear festival begins this weekend in our village. Lights and decorations are being put up across the street and there will be dancing and a stage with music. We went last year and had candy floss. We will go this year and have candy floss and sway from side to side listening to the local bands. The children, as last year, will decide they are too old for the kid’s attractions and beg instead for sweets.
In this area there are pear trees, olive groves and vineyards. We will buy the seasonal fruit and make pear compote, pear crumble, pear clafoutis, pear pie. Oh, and pears baked in red wine, white wine, brandy, ginga and drink pear juice on the rocks.
Meanwhile I go for a drive and a tractor pulls out in front of me. It is going to the agricultural co-operative which is along our road. It turns off and another tractor full of pears pulls in front. Another whips in behind. I am trapped, driving at a snails pace. I have never seen so many tractors and trailers. All packed with pears.
It reminds me of the only fruit tree which I haven’t yet got around to planting. A pear tree. I’m not sure if we really need our own.