Low hanging fruit
It’s Sunday afternoon when I finally get sick of scrolling through news stories and go for a walk down the creek.
I’m almost home when Bevan, my neighbour, steps out his front gate. Bevan lives alone with his kelpie-X, Andy. He looks weary.
Bevan collects paintings and stays up nights working on the provenance of his pieces.
I ask him if he wants more blood oranges (I gave him a few the week before). He hesitates like he’s just remembering he needs to eat, and stutters a yes.
I motion him to come over.
I go into the kitchen, grab a bag and head out to the blood orange tree we share with a family of ringtail possums.
At night they brazenly eat fruit in front of me giving me the “What?” look before tucking back in.
I spy half a dozen partially skinned fruits hanging in the tree as Bevan wanders into the backyard.
We pick enough oranges and limes for the week ahead and he explains he’s just finished researching a Heidelberg School-era painting.
Now Bevan’s done his provenancing he reckons he can sleep and eat a bit more.
As he heads home he invites us to come around later to see the new picture.
After our spontaneous citrus harvest I want to save more blood oranges from the shameless ringtails.
I text Alan, my old friend and neighbourhood jam maker, to see if he wants fruit for his famous Cointreau marmalade. I haven’t seen much of him lately and a conserve is the perfect way to catch up with him.
While I wait for Alan’s reply I pick a bag of oranges with some lemons and limes and take them next door to Jodi and Elena. I know they have a serious lemon juice and hot water habit to feed.
When they first moved in they kept to themselves but regular front verandah lemon drops have dissolved the distance between us.
Likewise with Mary, who walks her shy little dog, Daphne, down our laneway in the early evenings.
For years we barely said hi until she nervously asked if she could pick the lemons that hang over our back fence. Now we greet each other and chat like old mates.
Next drop-off is Gene and Lynn’s across the road.
Gene’s a nurse working with people experiencing addiction. I pass him a brown paper bag – he looks inside and nods. Last year he made a beautiful orange cake with these.
Gene’s just come off shift – this morning a client and friend he’d known for over twenty years has died.
Two weeks earlier Gene had been the first responder. A fortnight of uncertainty in ICU followed before his friend’s life support was removed.
Freshly home, Gene hasn’t spoken to anyone yet – he wishes he could have done more, been more available. He remembers his old friend and we hug.
Later on Alan replies to my text. He wants oranges but not too many limes. I’ll drop them over during the week.
At home I go out back and give a quiet thanks to the person who planted these citrus trees in our backyard.
They’ll never know how their simple plan to grow a few oranges and lemons is bringing strangers together twenty years later.
Keep warm and have a great week.
Chris
