Bench Beneath the Pear Tree

As I look about me these days, I find the hills changing their clothes rather too quickly for my liking. Where there were once quiet stretches of green, there are now signs of hurried construction. It has set me thinking, and more than that, planting. For every wall that rises, I feel inclined to place a sapling in the ground, as though the earth and I have entered into a small, unspoken agreement.

Some of the fruit trees, planted in more hopeful years, have now come into their own. They reward me generously, as old friends do, with baskets of fruit and a quiet sense of continuity. The oaks and hollies, those steadfast forest companions, remain lively abodes for birds who seem to have far fewer complaints than we humans. Lately, I have added a few more plums and peaches to the fold, along with blueberries and raspberries, in the hope that they too will settle in and make themselves at home.

Though my latest little enterprise has been under an old pear tree, and has nothing to do with tree plantation as such. I was working with a newly grafted citrus fruit tree near it and then the thought crossed my mind.

The pear’s lower branches, having dried with age, were removed some days back, revealing a nice partially-shaded alcove beneath. It seemed almost impolite not to make use of such a space, so a simple bench found its way there. Around it, we planted rosemary, its fragrance already promising relaxed afternoons, and scattered marigold seeds with a certain misplaced optimism that unlike me only experienced gardeners possess. If all goes well, by summer’s end it should become a pleasant refuge for reading and idle thought. The birds, I must say, have shown immediate approval. A cheerful flock of white-throated tits has taken to visiting the nearby branches, hopping about with the easy familiarity of old residents. Though the project involves shifting my bee-hives elsewhere but I am sure that bees will also adjust well to a new location that I have planned for them, filled with lots of wildflowers.

The pear tree bears some of the sweetest fruit in the orchard, and in early autumn, when they are at their finest, I like to imagine myself sitting beneath it with a book in hand, reaching up now and then for a perfectly ripened pear. That is, of course, assuming the monkeys will not damage them. Someone once suggested covering the tree with netting, assuring me that it would keep both birds and monkeys at bay. I am not entirely convinced. The birds, I do not resent at all, they take only what they need and leave the rest with a certain courtesy. The monkeys, however, are less restrained in their habits, and far more inventive. I have seen them in the village, quite deftly lifting and tearing through such protections. For the monkeys they were no more than a passing inconvenience. So I find it best not to think too much. I shall wait, and hope for my share of the harvest. And if the pears are claimed before I arrive, well, the quiet shade beneath the tree will still be mine to enjoy, and that itself is reward enough.

There are, of course, practical matters to attend to later on. A stone pathway leading to this spot now feels as the next necessary indulgence (and sadly an added expense too). In the dry months, the walk is easy enough, but the rains have a way of turning even short distances into minor adventures. A modest path would make the nook accessible in all seasons, and I suspect a few more rosemary bushes may find their way along its edges. Though someone asked that who’s going to sit under that tree during the rains, but I feel that once in a while I might, even if I have to do so with an umbrella in one hand. After all, the spot is blessed with greenery on every side, and from where one sits, there is not a trace of construction to be seen.

As for the ongoing business of planting, there is always a reckoning to be done. This past winter was rather stern with swings of temperature and practically no precipitation, and not all the young trees have survived its dry aspect. I shall have to take stock and make my peace with these small losses. Still, there is comfort in preparation. A number of saplings wait patiently in their pots, ready for the rainy season. There are lemons, some stone fruits, a couple of pomes, and even a small fig. The north-facing slope is not the easiest of places to coax into abundance, but one persists. With time, and a little stubborn faith, I like to think it will grow into a green boundary, a quiet hedge against the world’s increasing noise.

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