Tuesday 9th August 2011
Dad’s plum tree is ladened with fruit at the moment. The birds seem disinterested in pilfering its wares this year.
I watched from the window as Dad & my son, Zeph, went to the bottom of the garden with a set of ladders to collect some to go with our blackberries. Dad with his foot on the bottom run of the ladder, Zephy plucking & passing. They worked well as a team.
20 odd years ago he used to do the same with my niece. I remember watching my niece, no more than 3 years old, sitting on the kitchen top while she and my Dad bashed & flattened the pastry to wrap around the juicy plums they had just got from the tree. It would look like a patch work quilt when they had finished.
Fast forward 22 years.
My Great-nephew has fallen over and banged his head. As my Dad picks him up, the baby, makes the sound of air rushing through the trees & starts moving his arms from side to side, mimicking the wind. This is my Dad’s cue to walk Jayden to the bottom of the garden & pick a plum from the tree. Plum in hand, peace is restored in his world.
A bona fide family tree.