His arms were up her skirts — to the elbows!

Last Year’s Plums!

There is nothing quite like coming upon the violation of your one and only plum tree!  With all due respect (and love) for Judy Eron’s song, “I Picked His Plum Trees Bare,” seeing such a transgression as it was happening right here a stone’s (or pit’s) throw from our house, did not bring out the best in me.

We were just coming home after erranding to the south and, as we passed the lane (Clay Street), I glanced east toward the bay and saw someone being way too cozy with our plum tree.  Our one-and-only plum tree — actually an Italian prune — that we had purchased, planted in our yard some years ago, and when it suffered failure-to-thrive syndrome, transferred to an area just outside our fence.  For a year or two, as long as Nyel was able, Nyel picked the plums around Labor Day each year.  Last year, with the help of Tucker and his granddaughter Amelia, we harvested enough fruit to divide among us.   This year we’ve been watching eagerly and today or tomorrow, we thought, would be the harvest.

Nyel Harvesting Plums in 2018

I braked, backed up, and headed down the lane just as the plum thief started our way toward his parked (in the lane) car.  His hands were cupped around a half dozen or so gorgeous plums.  OUR plums!  I rolled down my window and called out to him, “I think you have my plums!”

“Really?  I didn’t know…  I live nearby and have been walking my dog here for years.  I’ve never seen a fence around that tree or a private property sign on it…”

It was definitely a dé·jà vu moment.  Forty years of reprimanding recalcitrant 1st/2nd/3rd graders came bubbling forth:  “Why in the world would that be necessary?  Plum trees don’t grow wild around here that I know of.  We planted it!  Those plums belong to us!”

“Do you want them?” he asked.

“Yes!” I thrust my hands out the window and he dumped them in.  We waited until he was gone, then turned the car around and went home.  There were seven plums!  They were delicious!

 

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