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So, My other half (Nate aka “The Eagle”) has a way with gardening. Notice how I do not add myself into that equation. I water whenever asked to but, aside from that, the plants and flowers and trees have asked me to keep my distance so they stand a shot at living. I’d like to think it has worked out well for all of us.

A little while back, Nate planted an olive tree and a peach tree. That peach tree has recently started to bear a butt-load of tiny, fuzzy, sweet little spheres. He pulled two or three off the tree for us the other day. The few bites we had were delicious. That’s probably all we’re going to get off of the darned thing now, thanks to the wildlife sanctuary living it up in the backyard these days. We can only assume that they came for the peaches.

Looking out our back window on any given morning, you will see a peach or three hanging open. The sweet yellow buffet o’ fruit flesh that some pigeon or jay has been recently pecking from inside its doomed peachy carcass will be proudly exposed, gleaming at you quietly from underneath a stray shaft of glorious sunlight. This morning, Nate saw a squirrel standing up on its back legs to yank a particularly low hanging peach down between its paws. Then it ran up into the bushes on our back slope, obviously delighted with its fruity contraband.

At this point, I figure it’s just nature’s way of carrying about its business. No point in fighting it. As a matter of fact, what the hell, tomorrow morning I think I’ll sit outside in a Snow White costume with a little Bailey’s in my coffee. That way I can sing cheerily about what a happy day it is while the birds enjoy their orgiastic feast.  Who knows? —Maybe some squirrel will come sit on my shoulder and join in.