Blogue d'un québécois expatrié en Angleterre. Comme toute forme d'autobiographie est constituée d'une large part de fiction, j'ai décidé de nommer le blogue Vraie Fiction.
Monday, 16 September 2013
Garden pears (5p each)
Today I received a text from a friend, the one I used to commute with a few months ago and who now live in the same town as me. We don't see each other much because she lives in another part of town. Anyway, she texted me, asking me: "Do you like pears?" I replied: "I love pears, why?" And she sent me another text saying there was a lady selling pears from her garden, five minutes from the pub near the train station. So back from work, I walked to the place. There was nobody there, not the lady or anybody from her family. But a bunch of pears in a box, with a piggy bank and this small paper stuck on it. I bought three, left the money in the piggy bank. And I took a picture. I love encouraging local economy, even, or maybe especially, on such small scale. I wish I could have told the lady how much I appreciated such generosity, sharing the result of a harvest like this. It reminds me of the house of my parents, where we pick apples and crap abbles when autumn is round the corner. Pears are not really common garden fruits where I come from, and I don't consider them the quintessential autumnal fruit, but still. It also reminds me of the garden in Liverpool, which had many trees with fruits growing. I sadly arrived after harvest. But mainly, these pears I bought, on a crisp autumn end of the afternoon, just made me appreciate the day more. It was a perfect autumnal moment. And at 5p the pear, it was also a bargain.