Lemon Tree

Lemon tree, very pretty,

and the lemon flower is sweet,

But the fruit of the poor lemon

is impossible to eat.

 

Houston, I have a problem.

Actually, more like a personality disorder. Or one of those 'phrenia's. Some of you are psychologists. You’ll know. Others of you attend therapy sessions. Perhaps you can discuss this blog post as a case study.

You see... I like free fruit.

Not free as in ‘free from the constraints of orchards’ type fruit (although a noble cause). I just really like getting lots of fruit for zero cost. Bulk. A box if possible. More the better. I LOVE it.

I don’t mind other free things of course. I’m known to register for samples of hand cream, tea bags, toothpaste etc, but it doesn’t give me the same thrill that free fruit does. I don’t mind free meat, but I think that’s a financial ‘like’ rather than actual enjoyment (trays of dead animal… take it or leave it thrill-wise being an ex-vegetarian). I don’t mind free vegies, but again… there’s only so much excitement that can come from a bag of corn or carrots.

As with many of my disorders, I suspect that this one began midst my Bush Bogan upbringing.

When I was a kid, one of the neighbours used to bring us chokos in exchange for passionfruit. I’d silently yell, ‘NOOOOOO!!!!!” because it frankly was a crap swap. Luscious fresh-from-the-vine fruit in exchange for daggy chokos. Who just sits on the back lawn and digs into a CHOKO?? I would hide some of the passionfruit so that we couldn’t barter it with the neighbours for their lame produce. Then, my brother moved into his first house when I was sixteen and it was … Nirvana. It had an orange tree AND the biggest mulberry tree I’d ever seen. You could SMELL the pie-filling potential hanging on the tree. The kind of tree you could climb up into with a 6 litre icecream bucket hanging around your neck.

And I did. I climbed that tree every summer for a few years (not wearing white obviously, except maybe my thongs, but they would've been rubber...), and any other tree or vine I could find in search of mountains of free fruit. I do actually love eating fruit, but when it’s just SITTING there… well, let’s just say I get a teeny weeny obsessed. There’s an urgency about picking fruit. Birds aren’t gettin’ my fruit. I can turn that fruit into pies, muffins, jam, slices, trade it for social acceptance in the neighbourhood and MORE!

And I do.

Moving closer to Brad the Tradie’s family this year has proven to be quite fruitful. Literally. BtT’s dad works part-time at an orchard and he brings home LOTS of fruit. It’s like the dream job really. Not sure how the old guy handles the excitement of being around all those fruit trees. I know I sure couldn’t. I’d be flitting from one tree to the next. Climbing, grabbing handfuls and developing new dessert recipes on the fly. It’s more than enough excitement for me to be given boxes of different free fruit when we visit. It’s like Christmas every time. A box of apples here. Next time a hundred pears. A bag of avocados and half a dozen hands of bananas. Ooo! A PAWPAW! The possibilities!

I’m in the process of planning which fruit trees to plant in the new Beachvillea house’s backyard. I’ve liaised with the neighbours regarding their fruit-tree planting responsibilities as well as the importance of diversification and pollination. I think they understand, but to be sure, I’ll follow up with a fact sheet and checklist. I don't want to be doubling up with these new compact-not-as-much-room blocks. There’s some room across the street and down a bit where I plan to sneak a few more into the mix. Perhaps a peach tree won’t look THAT strange in amongst the native banksias and wattles. Certainly not a fig tree. Practically a native.

It’s good karma to plant your own fruit trees and Brad the Tradie has done this with (... FOR) me at a couple of houses now, but it’s not the same as flogging free fruit from a tree that overfloweth. Taking bags, filling them to the brim, then dawdling home wondering what on earth you’re going to do with ten kilos of free bounty. I thought I’d reached the pinnacle of my free-fruit-finding career when, in my former abode in East Coast Boganvillea, I discovered a fabulous fig tree overhanging into public land. That, on top of the apricot tree around the corner and the peach tree that hung over onto the fire trail, and I was happy. I’ve done persimmons, apples, plums, pears. But in the back of my mind, I always knew that there was one free fruit tree that I’d never managed to have for my very own (figuratively speaking)… a lemon tree.

Until now.

Walking the beat with the exercise-crazed Bogandog in Beachvillea has opened me to a whole new opportunity for getting lost, exploring, and meandering. And it’s when I was least expecting a ‘find’ that I came across … it. A lemon tree. A bountiful, in season, huge, hanging-over-into-public land (kind of… it’s in someone’s front yard but VERY close to the kerb) lemon tree. Ahhhhh…. Come to mama.

So then it was ON. People had already picked the head height and below lemons. I dragged BtT there with me the next afternoon, in the car no less so we had enough towage to get all the lemons home. BtT is tall. Freakishly long arms. And he’s very stealthy. Can get into a fruit tree and send me down the goods quickly and quietly. Perfect man.

We staked out the tree. Parked across the road and down a bit. Had secateurs, stretchy velour tracky-daks, bags, balaclava-type hatwear… all set. Snuck into the tree and snip snip… bugger.

The owners were home.

There’s that small window of time when you’re caught stealing someone’s fruit where you have to decide how to work the situation. There are a few options:

a) Run. Pretend you weren’t doing anything and vow never to befriend attend BBQ with them.

b) Be assertive and say, “Well, your tree IS hanging into public land. Fair game!”

c) Apologise, cry a little and spin a sob story about being really, really hungry.

d) Screech about your personality disorder and frighten the bejesus out of them…

 

Too confused thinking amongst my options, I let BtT handle it.

He’s really much better at these things than I. Years of experience getting out of sticky situations. Tends not to screech or cry and has a very impressive non-arrest rate.

BtT (to approaching house-owner): Mate! How are you? (hides secateurs in back pocket with one hand whilst extending other for handshake…clever)

House owner (middle-aged to elderly, with wife in tow): Ohhh, you’d like some lemons as well then I guess?

BtT: Actually maaaaaate, thinking of giving it a little prune, yeah. I’m a landscaper, new to the area. Nice tree here. Bit top heavy, some crossover growth. Gotta watch lemon trees. Need some maintenance.

House owner: This is our holiday home. Help yourself. Everyone else does. Get the ones at the top, they’re really nice. Landscaper huh, you got a card? (Exit stage right thinking we’d done him a favour).

I think we’re up to about thirty kilograms of lemons in the last two weeks.

Lemons are awesome. Not impossible to eat at all. I’ve made lemon butter, frozen a millenium’s worth of lemon juice, lemon poppy seed cakes, added lemon to shortbread, made old fashioned American lemonade using a recipe I googled, added lemon to every drink we have (excellent addition to bourbon & coke) and EVEN made lemon fizzy using the Soda Stream. I’ve given lemons to both sets of new neighbours and a visiting friend, who have returned the gesture with fresh fish (neighbour to the left with boat) a set of beer glasses (neighbour to the right who used to own a bar) and a six pack of Jim Beam RTD’s (visiting friend… very generous).

But, more than anything, I feel a sense of accomplishment at my new find. I added to my free fruit tree collection. And this experience reminded me to appreciate the benefits of exploring one’s neighbourhood without expectation, merely hoping to discover whatever’s there. Because you inevitably do come across something special.

Ahhh, the lemon (and peach… and plum… and passionfruit…) flower is sweet.

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Lemon Tree, Peter, Paul & Mary, The 1960’s.