My wife dislikes perfumes and the like, and I'm not fond of them myself, so when she walked in, I gave her fair warning: “If I smell like perfume, it's because I've been hugging a French woman.”
How so? A couple driving by my house saw my Big Jim loquat tree, a muscular-looking 7-foot specimen. It was showing lots of colorful fruit, even though I had thinned them out a few weeks back. Big Jim is in the very corner of the northwest grove, next to the main road, and the man and his wife, who hails from France, had seen it week-after-week on the way to the nearby farm stand.
The wife loves loquats, though she knows them by a different name, and she finally persuaded her husband to stop by. He came my door and offered to buy some. I told him I had plenty, and would be happy to give them some, and off we went to harvest some Big Jim and Bradenton loquats.
In footwear quite unsuitable for trekking through my Bahia, wedelia, fire ants, and heavy mulch, the pretty lady had remained at the car. When I returned with a big bag of ripe fruit, she was overjoyed, and rewarded me with a warm and very aromatic hug.
Fruit tree growers meet the most interesting people.
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