The fruit trees are wearing their lacy finery. Spring! But the wind batters the blossoms and knocks off the fragile ones.
Yesterday it was raining white petals.
Today it's cold and windy and the hope of spring would melt away, except that there are blossoms!
We had the pear tree groomed by an arborist; he apologized that his pruning of branches would result in a smaller crop. I think Cranky and I looked at each other and grinned the secret grin. We need fewer pears.
I find myself in a good frame of mind about these abundant annual crops: So what? We can always give away the excess. I'm no longer oppressed. There's even a guy in my city trying to put together a program where teams of pickers come to your house by appointment and harvest the fruit at no cost to you, and then donate the bounty to the food bank. (The problem with that is that the pears don't all get ripe on one day; they drop at their own sweet time, over a period of more than a month. But I know where the food bank is; I can deliver them myself.)
It's amazing how frightened I was of the trees the first couple of years. Now? Bring it on.