In my old house where I lived with my husband, I was a gardener. We had a lemon tree, oranges, tangerines, grapefruits, plums, pomegranates, figs, loquats and guavas. Other than fresh-squeezed o.j., I don't think Mr. Ex ever tasted the bounty of my efforts, but our daughters and I ate all of it. One summer when they were little girls, we ate so much squash from the vegetable garden that they're still sick of the stuff. In my new place with its tiny patio, I confess I was a bit relieved. I brought 2 rose bushes in pots with me and planted a box of herbs, but I left it at that. Weekends were spent writing for the MFA program or reading. My back hurt less and my hands and nails always looked presentable. Going to the farmer's market would be fine, I said.
Then a few days ago the guy I'm dating brought me a bag of loquats he'd picked from a feral tree in his neighborhood. Every slice through the peachy skin to the white melon-like flesh gave me a pang. And all week there was the scent of spring in the air and I missed my yard--the way I used to smell the jasmine mixed with lemons as I lay in my bed with the French doors open to our balcony. A couple of days ago, I noticed there was a guava tree on my street in flower and I began to fantasize about rustling guavas in the wee hours of the morning.
Today I went to the Armstrong's Garden Center in my new neighborhood and bought a dwarf Meyer lemon tree, a kumquat tree and two very large pots and 2 bags of potting soil. At another nursery I bought a "pesto bowl" with a tomato plant, basil and parsley. There really isn't room on my patio for anything else, but if there were, I'd choose a fig tree. I used to like them warm from the sun, rinsed under the garden hose.
But now I'll have something I never had at the other house--kumquats. Yummm.
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