Around the corner from my Silver Lake abode is an avocado tree that is the quintessential example of the type of flora promoted by the good people over at Fallen Fruit. With its heavily laden boughs extending far over the sidewalk and into the public domain, the tree is ripe for the picking… if you happen to be 20 feet tall or have an extension ladder of that length handy.
Being ladderless and 14 feet too short, I’ve resorted to waiting things out. But the eager anticipation of guacamole for days has methodically been defeated by what is clearly the stubbornest tree south of Sunset Boulevard. In the months and months (and months!) that the dog and I have walked under it and marveled as its hundreds of children grow fat and sassy, rarely has the obstinate arbor released any of its bounty. Sure, there’s been the occasional squirrel-gnawed or crow-pecked runt found rotting in the gutter, but that’s pretty much it. And while I’ve considered bringing an old shoe with me to toss up and see what I could shake lose, I end up remaining eternally hopeful that nature and gravity will take their inevitable courses and one day I’ll chance upon one or more of its incredible edible emeralds.
Well, today was that glorious day. But the dog and I didn’t just finally happen upon one downed on the ground. Noooo my friends, that would be too easy, especially with a tree that has such a flair for the dramatique… and perhaps rusty bombardier skills. For on this morning’s march beneath it, no sooner had I sighed at yet another day left empty handed when there came a distinct whump! a yard or so off my starboard bow and following my inital flinch and glance upward to see if she’d been aiming for me, like Cap’n Ahab after his big fish I heaved to and plunged forth after my great green whale, which tumbled away from me toward the end of the earth, otherwise known as the curb.
Isn’t she a beauty? See for yourself after the jump. For scale in the picture I used my lucky 1942 quarter, given to me by my Uncle Rodger who carried it with him every mission he flew as a B-17 sidegunner during World War II.
Of course, she’ll need some additional ripening, but if I can wait since the fall for her to fall, a few more days on the kitchen windowsill are totally doable.
PS. April Fool’s about the quarter. It is indeed my lucky quarter and a 1942 one at that, and my uncle was a sidegunner in a B-17 during World War II, but it’s astronomically unlikely the two ever crossed paths. If you’re interested here’s how I met the coin in August 2005.