Walking around gives you time to think up things like, the pomegranate breeder in Iran who created my Parfianka tree: if he leaves his farm and research to his son, does that mean the kid has a re-seeding heir line?

We had an early dinner and there was still light and no UV. Finally. I set out with my paper bag.

One neighbor said, Oh! Can I…?! And ran to her fridge and back to the door: two persimmons from her tree for my pomegranate.

The neighbor who’d surprised me several years ago with a finished polished slab from when the redwood tree had had to come down–I’ll take any excuse to drop by and say hi to her. She answered the door. She swooned over that big thing. At being thought of. It was great.

Next to her was someone whom I hadn’t managed to meet yet and had long faulted myself over that. The annual neighborhood block party had died with covid and then the passing of the elderly couple who used to run it.

The guy was quite surprised to see me at his door holding out–a fruit. Another guy walking behind him looked at me, a stranger, and then him, and shrugged a, You deal with this, while the first guy, delighted, held up a finger: could I wait just a moment?

Sure!

He came quickly back and offered me: an even bigger pomegranate from his tree! We got a great laugh out of that and each other’s names and the neighborhood became a warmer, friendlier place.