I found myself sitting next to a fellow grandmother and knitter, a woman from India who loved watching my hands work as we delighted in each other. She was a treasure.
The doctor was the ENT whose love for taking care of his fruit trees had triggered my planting mine, and look where it got me now. Enthusiasm is contagious that way.
So I brought him a gift in a small Penzey’s box: one perfectly ripe, slightly funky-shaped rather small apple that had grown to fit the produce clamshell that had been squirrel-proofing it. I told him it was my final Fuji of the season.
He laughed in wonder, saying he’d picked his last Fuji in August!
Microclimates R Us, I guess.
It smelled perfect. I hope it was. There had been two, and we can tell you that the other had made it clear how good they were now.