WHEN WE MOVED to the Hacienda in 2003, there were a few trees on the property — a fig, a loquat, a peach and God knows what else.
As a housewarming gift, the great Al Kinnison surprised me with a load of fruit trees he’d purchased in Uruapan in La Tierra Caliente. Leaving me no option, bless his heart, I planted them. There was a pear, an orange and something else I still don’t recognize, maybe macademia.
Like other plants I’ve allowed here, they’ve turned on me, become evil, and I’m sick of them. Last month, I had the monster nopal removed. Today, it’s the pear that just this past summer started dropping a colossal quantity of fruit which I had to scoop up and dump into the ravine down the street.
I mentioned the problem recently to Abel the Deadpan Yardman, who said he would happily remove the pear. According to him, if you cut it into pieces and let it dry about five years, it makes stupendous firewood.
He arrived this morning with a wheelbarrow and machete, nothing more. I offered him my big pruning saw, which he used instead of the machete. After downing the pear, he proceeded to machete it into smaller pieces.
This has come with a price to pay. My child bride was quite angry in spite of my having told her previously that the pear had to go. Abel’s arrival with his machete and wheelbarrow caught her by surprise.
If she had her druthers, the yard would be limb-to-limb fruit trees of every imaginable variety. My druthers would leave us with a parking lot of stone and concrete. We’ll have to settle on a sweet spot in the middle.
In a few weeks, workmen will be removing more grass from the yard and installing stone and concrete. A part of that will entail removing the peach tree, another trash-tossing pendejo, which abuts the Jesus Patio.
I have told her this too, but I will have another sourpuss spouse on that not-distant day. And then it will blow over. Peace will reign.
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(The Unseen Moon has a new face. Hope you like it.)