Island of apples, baskets of pears
Sep. 7th, 2025 04:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Fruit trees have very much been the theme of this weekend. Someone was giving away pears from a box in their front garden on my return walk from the gym yesterday, and another person was giving away apples when I passed on my way back from the pool this morning. Yesterday afternoon Matthias and I scrambled around on a ladder, and even in the tree itself, picking all the bramley apples from the tree in our back garden. Now two shelves, plus the vegetable crisper in our fridge are entirely filled with apples. Last year they lasted us from August to March!
Everywhere in our house, there are little scattered clusters of fruit — a trio of pears and two large tomatoes ripening on the front windowsill, bowls of apples on the kitchen table, a handful of black cherry tomatoes on the kitchen windowsill in between the indoor plants — like votive offerings to household or harvest gods.
In general, the garden is making me very happy.
If that wasn't enough, after breakfast today, Matthias and I walked out to Little Downham, past hedgerows laden with sloes, rosehips and ripe blackberries, until we got to the community orchard, and filled his backpack with yet more apples and pears. The leaves are yellowing at the edges, and the air has that slightly crackly, woody autumnal scent, although it's still as warm as ever.
Last night, Matthias and I rewatched Casablanca, which I had last seen about twenty-five years ago. It really is that good, and I cried buckets, of course (although about the politics, more than the interpersonal stories). It's extraordinary to me that it was made not post-WWII, but in 1942 — an incredible act of hope and optimism, and faith in human effort turned collaboratively towards an existential struggle. It is of course incredibly emotionally manipulative, but sometimes I just want to see a bunch of traumatised exiles stand up to totalitarian bullies, you know?
( This week I finished three books )
In the time since I started writing this post, the UK government sent me its (scheduled, warned-for) blaring, vibrating phone test emergency alert, and the sky outside has turned from burning blue to cloud-covered grey. The weekend is winding down, and gathering itself in, like a blanket thrown over tired legs.
Everywhere in our house, there are little scattered clusters of fruit — a trio of pears and two large tomatoes ripening on the front windowsill, bowls of apples on the kitchen table, a handful of black cherry tomatoes on the kitchen windowsill in between the indoor plants — like votive offerings to household or harvest gods.
In general, the garden is making me very happy.
If that wasn't enough, after breakfast today, Matthias and I walked out to Little Downham, past hedgerows laden with sloes, rosehips and ripe blackberries, until we got to the community orchard, and filled his backpack with yet more apples and pears. The leaves are yellowing at the edges, and the air has that slightly crackly, woody autumnal scent, although it's still as warm as ever.
Last night, Matthias and I rewatched Casablanca, which I had last seen about twenty-five years ago. It really is that good, and I cried buckets, of course (although about the politics, more than the interpersonal stories). It's extraordinary to me that it was made not post-WWII, but in 1942 — an incredible act of hope and optimism, and faith in human effort turned collaboratively towards an existential struggle. It is of course incredibly emotionally manipulative, but sometimes I just want to see a bunch of traumatised exiles stand up to totalitarian bullies, you know?
( This week I finished three books )
In the time since I started writing this post, the UK government sent me its (scheduled, warned-for) blaring, vibrating phone test emergency alert, and the sky outside has turned from burning blue to cloud-covered grey. The weekend is winding down, and gathering itself in, like a blanket thrown over tired legs.