My Beloved and I spent last weekend checking out an investment in futures - fruit futures.
We whiled away an afternoon with our friend Jeanne, driving the Blossom Trail through towns such as Sanger and Fresno, Reedly and Centerville. At this time of year, all the orchards in central California - cherry, plum, peach, nectarine, apricot - are in full bloom, covered in pink and white blossoms.
The orchards are immaculate, trimmed and raked, trees planted in soldierly rows, but there were never soldiers as airy, as blowsy, as free-form as these. These trees are not taking orders from anyone but Mother Nature at the moment, wantons that they are. They are peeping from behind lace fans with flirty little curtsies, clearly soliciting sex. Don't be fooled by all that bridal white and baby pink, these gals are on the make and the bees are their cupids. They will happily fling off their wedding dress finery in a few weeks, carpeting the ground with petal tulle, once the unions have been consummated.
The square, multicolored beehives are stacked in place at the ends of the rows and the little winged matchmakers are hard at work assisting the miracles. Brown earth is being translated into juicy fruits using sheer magic.
The investment looks promising; I predict a bumper crop.