Like so many break-ups in life, this one just wouldn't stay broken.
During a walkabout the other day, I noticed that a dwarf peach tree in a container had held onto a surprising number of peaches (some simply dropped off or got stolen by unknown varmints before ripening).
Though I'd expected nothing from this tree, I figured why not give peaches a chance. So I paid closer attention. True to form, a few days later, before they were fully ripe, this crop was ravaged by what I'm guessing were trashy squirrels. Wounded peaches littered the ground.
This'll teach me to say something nice about the bushy-tailed rats, as I did in this post from last April. I thought my squirrel-hating days were over, but as it happens, I just hadn't tried to grow something they really, really loved.
I took the few survivors indoors to finish ripening on a windowsill. These pickings were about par for all of my food crops.
Yes, they were tasty, just as any home-grown food is, assuming you can keep it away from varmints long enough to get a taste of it.
In stealing the peaches, the squirrels broke a couple branches on the little tree. I pruned off the damaged parts and planted the tree, not concerned about whether it produces any fruit next year. I like it for the beautiful red blooms.
After all, I had quit food-growing. This raises a question. Is there some mystical rule that says not caring about making something work makes that something easier to accomplish?
To that question, I submit Exhibit No. 2: That's a fig tree behind the peach in the ground. For the first time since I got it a couple of years ago, it produced a few figs, ripening one or two a week.
No matter. I'm still done. Planting this peach amounts to re-burying my food-growing career. Which just may mean I'll get serendipitous crops by the bushel.