“Don’t eat this fruit,” started with Genesis. Nursery tales have Peter Rabbit stealing from Mr. McGregor’s garden. Most coming of age books in the early 20th century, especially if about boys, contain a least one sequence when they sneak into someone’s orchard and swipe apples. At some level, even among the most generous of us, we feel if it is our tree, the fruit it bears is ours. I first felt this affront of my ownership when we moved on Rice Blvd. Outside the kitchen window was a good size plum tree. Through the spring we saw blossoms, green knobs, slight changes in color. By early June, they were almost ready. We made a week-end trip to San Antonio. When we came back, stems were bare or the fruit pecked and left to rot. Squirrels and birds were the culprits. To say I was offended is to put it mildly.
In my walks this summer, I’ve found two examples of trying to protect street side trees. Just around the corner from us, the house has recently landscaped with Louisiana iris, day lilies, and a small tree. As I repeatedly circled the block, I finally realized it was a beginning peach tree. One little bloom, one tiny peach. About the time it got larger and was that glorious mouth watering color of summer delight, a sign appeared. PLEASE LEAVE THE PEACH FOR OUR CHILDREN TO PICK. A later walk showed the peach was gone. The two resident girls were bringing in their bikes one afternoon. “Did you get to pick your peach?” The older scowled while the younger stomped her foot. “NO! Someone got it” I could only hope it turned to dust in their mouth.
The other example I think was to deal with winged and furry creatures. Down the sidewalk ahead of me I noticed an unusual glistening in morning light. I’m not sure of the tree. Around every small possibility, maybe thirty or more, some one had placed a zip lock bag. I guess they serve the same purpose as netting on a tomato plant. The message is sit there and drool. Just don’t eat the produce. Unfortunately, my walks are a random ramble, so I may never know if the owner’s efforts were affective.
Mixed with the desire to enjoy our own fruits is the pleasure we gain to offer by our choice with open hands. Hoarding can sour the harvest. A children’s share song is “The man who has plenty of good peanuts, and gives his neighbors none, Shan’t have any of my peanuts when his peanuts are gone.” The boy across the street brought me two pods of his purple okra. I have my own fruits to share. They are not visible and others never snatch them from me. If I make them available, though, they multiply, and there are enough for everyone.
But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance. Galatians 5:22-23
Let Me Tell Ya 