Gorgeous, Shelly. I enjoyed the blossom in your words, the paring and the pruning--and the twin stories of family and writing underneath. And this, especially:
"We drove the tractor for the first time through the rows, slowly loading the flatbed with branches still being kissed by the bees. I called it the prettiest firewood I’d ever seen. And their glorious aroma, so heavenly. The hard work, the rest of the season, almost hell. No, just earth. It was hard and worth it. Cherries. Berries. Peaches. Pears. Apples. Grapes. Now pasture grass.
This spring marks the third without mom in the flesh. I’ve lost track of how many years we’ve gone without growing and knowing our own peach’s flesh. But I’m back in the house, having moved in with Dad in December."
Thanks Shelly.
Gorgeous, Shelly. I enjoyed the blossom in your words, the paring and the pruning--and the twin stories of family and writing underneath. And this, especially:
"We drove the tractor for the first time through the rows, slowly loading the flatbed with branches still being kissed by the bees. I called it the prettiest firewood I’d ever seen. And their glorious aroma, so heavenly. The hard work, the rest of the season, almost hell. No, just earth. It was hard and worth it. Cherries. Berries. Peaches. Pears. Apples. Grapes. Now pasture grass.
This spring marks the third without mom in the flesh. I’ve lost track of how many years we’ve gone without growing and knowing our own peach’s flesh. But I’m back in the house, having moved in with Dad in December."
Thank you.
Cliff