Erica Lucke Dean

"Making the world a better place, one book at a time."

one hundred pounds of pears on the floor

For anyone new to my blog…my husband, Mike has a blog of his own “The Suburb Homesteader.”  On his blog he documents his efforts to grow as much of our own food as possible, while still maintaining a very stressful, high responsibility, full time job.   

Before the rosemary, the tomatoes, the pumpkins, the beans, the Swiss chard, and the sunflowers, my husband planted fruit.  The fruit was his first priority when we first built our house five years ago.  And not just any fruit…many, many different kinds of fruit.  We have at least three varieties of apple, two varieties of pear, a peach tree, two plum trees, multiple blueberry bushes, ground cover strawberry, brambles upon brambles of blackberry, a fig, and until they suffered a fate worse than death (being dug up and used for wreathes) we had grapevines. 

I hope I didn’t miss anything. 

I can’t say I have any complaints about the fruit.  I love fruit.  I picked and ate the strawberries as they became ripe.  Same with the blackberries, the plums, and when we had any…the peaches.  I look forward to the apples (they aren’t quite ready yet.)

But the pears?

I am so over the pears!

Don’t get me wrong…I like pears.  I can even overlook their mushy, somewhat gritty texture to reach the sweet juiciness of their delicious flesh.  But after collecting and transporting them from the tree to the kitchen, then weighing, and ultimately, washing exactly one hundred pounds of pears…I don’t care if I ever see another pear again!

Unfortunately for me…they are still in buckets, baskets, and plastic tubs on my kitchen counter…where they will undoubtedly stay for the unforeseeable future. 

Even though the pears are yet to be quite ripe enough for me, Mike has been eating them in pairs (forgive the pun).  But even he can’t seem eat them fast enough.  In fact, he is making groaning sounds on the sofa as I write…most likely from an unhealthy overdose of pears!  It appears that pears have been used for centuries as a natural laxative. 

Who knew?

Perhaps my distaste for the pears is a lingering resentment left over from last year.  We didn’t get as many pears then, just over half as much, but we found ourselves testing our creativity by making pear butter, pear sauce, and other assorted pear concoctions.  And still had plenty of pears to eat.  I have no idea what we will do with the bounty we have been blessed with this year.  I think Mike is trying to get rich by writing an entire cookbook of recipes featuring pears.  I won’t stop him.  As long as he can find creative ways to present them, I’ll play guinea pig for the taste tests. 

Anyone for grilled pear steaks topped with goat cheese and pecans…and drizzled with hot maple syrup?

Sounds tasty…but I doubt even THAT will make a dent in my pear coffers. 

I suppose we could open up a little pear stand at the end of the driveway.  It could work.  Kids have been selling lemonade that way for YEARS! 

The good news is…I have company coming to town for the weekend, and so is my mother…so pear gift baskets may be in order.  If you live close enough, give me a shout out…I might have a few left over for you…if you dare!

Until the next time…I’ll be having pear pancakes with pear butter and pear syrup (for breakfast, lunch, and dinner!)

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