The sour life.


“Why don’t you go on west to California? There’s work there, and it never gets cold. Why, you can reach out anywhere and pick an orange. Why there’s always some kind of crop to work in. Why don’t you go there?”   —Johnny Steinbeck, Grapes o’ Wrath.

It’s a schlep, people.

I have to get out of my lawn chair, walk all the way to the back of the yard, pick a half dozen lemons and limes from our dwarf trees, then walk all the way back to the kitchen, plug in the squeezer, slice and squeeze till my glass is half full, add soda water, and stagger back to my lawn chair.

I’m exhausted. Yet refreshed.

20 thoughts on “The sour life.”

  1. Oboy, that’s funny! I’m in CA. and the gophers got my nectarine, orange, lemon, plum and fig trees. 😦 But I still have my huge pomegranate which possum’s now are enjoying. I’d sure love to get some of my own fruit.


  2. Sweet. Impressing. Depressing. Rain here. Must think of limoncello. And grapes. And forsake wrath. Good things come to those who sit in gardens. And can draw.


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