There’s a giant, lovely pear tree that grows on my parent’s property. In the fall its branches grow heavy, weighed down by the ripe fruit ready for picking. I remember a couple years back spending a couple hours out with my parents in the back of dad’s truck plucking pears into several buckets, overflowing until we could not reach any higher. After picking more hours of labor were spent turning the fruit into mouth watering pear sauce, exactly the same routine as apple sauce.
Of course right now there is no fruit to sample or throw into the field for the horses to chase after. But there are blossoms, fresh green blossoms still closed up in the cool spring weather. I imagine within just a few short weeks they will unfold in the dainty way that they do, so small and fragile. Their soft color contrasting beautifully against the bright blue spring sky. How glorious that sight will be.