Sunday, November 23, 2008
Picking Feral Pears
They make you feel like a very bad person for picking the fruit out of an orchard that hasn't been managed properly for thirty years or more. (I originally typed out "like a terrorist" but then the Feral Princess says, "A terrorist? They do say Please.")
Motionless in pear trees when the cars go by, filling up a backpack each. Evading a Ranger in a white truck. The action resonates back into the Middle Ages, or anytime in the past and the future that we climb uninvited into the King's private gardens.
Suburban forage is my responsibility to this land, and that trumps my responsibility to the King.