The great plumpocalypse (aplumcalypse?) seems to be finally winding down. Maybe the wet spring had something to do with it, but whatever the reason the plum tree went loco this summer. Cornucopia is probably the right word. Or maybe calamity. Every day I stop by the back corner of the yard and rake up hundreds and hundreds of half-sized plums. Every single day. I’m sure on windy days it’s closer to a thousand (thunk, thunk-thunk, thunk). Don’t get me wrong, they’re delicious, but after the first fifty plums or so, I’m pretty well sated for the season. Parko and Taylor help a little, stuffing their slobbery cheeks full of fruit, pits and all. I’ve been heaving the raked piles over the back fence, leaving a gooey mess and giving the backyard that sweet-acrid smell of fermentation when the wind is right. Lesson learned I guess: never water the fruit trees.
Oh, also I went on a great trip to Yosemite, Sequoia, and Kings Canyon last month. And flew to Michigan and drove the dogs back out in another two-day cross-country marathon drive. And have been doing some pretty neat wildlife monitoring field work the past month. And we put the house up for sale in Michigan last week and had a full-price offer three days later (waiting now on inspection details and whatnot at the moment).
This post took me about an hour to finagle and post via a ten-year-old MacBook, running Opera, on a Starbucks wifi connection, so it might be a while before I get some of those pictures up and running.