This is the time of year when citrus trees bear fruit in Louisiana. I don't know the psychology behind it, but fresh-picked fruit is much more soul satisfying than the store-bought variety. I would imagine that people who grow their own vegetables feel the same way. Maybe it's some kind of primal, connection-to-the-earth thing.
One of my boss's former clients has come to the office twice in the past couple of weeks to deliver bags stuffed with satsumas, oranges, and the biggest lemons I've ever seen. We've eaten them for snacks at work, and we've all taken home plenty to share with our families.
Tonight, though, I tasted the most satisfying fruit of all, a tangelo grown right in my own backyard. The spindly little tangelo tree is only three years old and isn't much taller than I am. It's produced fruit every year since Kim planted it, but we picked it too early the first two years. This year we exercised a little patience, and the results are juicy and delicious.
You know, I may have missed something by not trying my hand at gardening. Except for the dirt, the hot sun, the constant watering, the allergies, and (not the least consideration) my aversion to physical labor, I think I might have enjoyed it.