A Whisper of Winter and Our Eleven Feijoa Trees.
When we moved to this beautiful piece of land nine years ago we had 26 feijoas trees. When the wind whispered winter and the first firm, green-skinned fruit began to fall, with them fell away free-time! With 3 kids under 5, our daughter then just weeks old, the fruit fell in earnest and filled wheel barrows, rubbish bins, buckets, crates and preserving pans. And still they fell.
We bought a chest freezer large enough to swim in and quickly filled it with rubbish bags heavy with fruit. In that frozen fruit lay the promise of the best feijoa cider this side of Mount Messenger. And deliver on it’s promise months later it did. Next we packed feijoas tightly into jars with slices of zesty ginger, poured over lime-scented syrup and lined them up neatly on shelves in the pantry next to feijoa jam and feijoa chutney, thick and dark and wonderful with cheese.
Nine years on and our feijoa orchard has shrunk to eleven trees. It’s never easy cutting short the life of a tree, particularly one that gives so freely and generously. But they all fell to make way for something purposeful, something different. Several fell in the name of a garden shed and wood storage, beautifully constructed in batten and board, now silver from seasons of wind and rain. Others feel simply in the name of diversity. An avocado, it’s slender branches now the home to exactly five smooth, rock-hard avocados, whose coming-of-age we anticipate with much eagerness. Still others made room for a persimmon tree which could finally exhale and send forth graceful new shoots. These shoots, soon boughs, in a season or so will bear bright orange fruit. Much loved by my babes, they will fill lunch boxes and hungry just-home-school-bellies as we all regroup and recharge.
Needless to say eleven feijoa trees still give in abundance (thirty kilos a day at the peak) and with the first ‘thud’ of the first ripe feijoa of the season excitement and trepidation hold hands as we boldly begin to collect the first fruit. My kids, now nine, eleven and thirteen, wild and beautiful in equal measure and with a keen desire to earn a dollar or two, collect, weigh and pack the fruit (two kilos, the magic number) then truck the bags to the boot of the car. Lined up neatly, we drive them around the corner to the main road, open the boot, arrange the signs just so - ‘Fresh, Big, Organic Feijoas. 2kg. $7’, and then wait. Books, snacks, water and a good dose of patience are a must and blessed are we all that just metres from the car is a playground on which to stretch weary legs and expend all that effervescent, ever-present kid-energy.
We are four weeks into the season already and the kids are pleased with their takings. They’ve afforded several trips to the dairy (one of the great joys of being a kid I reckon) and there is even talk of a trip to the bank - savings for a rainy day. It is a joy to watch them in action. The opportunities for learning that our feijoas provide are many, be they maths, sign-making or customer service. They strengthen the muscles of negotiation, problem solving and simple, yet oh-so-necessary, kindness. And so today we will go out into the world stocked with feijoas and tonnes of kindness. We hope to see you out there. We’d love to share them both with you.
A bowl of feijoas. Bottled Ginger & Lime Feijoas. Fruit for a rainy day.
Our garden gives in abundance. What one might consider weeds can in fact become salad greens, tea or herbal remedies.