It's cold, raining, and threatening to snow. I'm outside with loppers, frozen hands, smarting cheeks and a runny nose doing manual labor.
Rewind a week.
I was inside, snuggly warm, sipping hot tea, gushing over the hundreds of fruit tree varieties in a new, crisp, brightly colored mail-order garden catalog.
"Five apple trees, 4 pears, 2 peaches, 2 nectarines, 2 plums, 2 apricots..." I merrily hummed the order as I highlighted each appetizing selection. "Hm.. I need kiwis, honeyberries, sea berries, cranberries, elderberries, gooseberries, quince... a variety of nut trees... a few dozen each of raspberry, blackberry and bluberry bushes..."
It didn't take long before I'd highlighted myself into an $890 corner (before taxes, shipping and handling).
Burn.
I furiously schemed how I could raise the money for my fantasy farm in time to place an order, at least for next year. It took a little finagling of the budget, but I know I can do it.
Fast forward to the frozen scene.
What am I doing? Helping my husband prune a tree. A semi-dwarf fruit tree. One. Uno. A single tree. And it's hard work. And it's cold. Did I mention my frozen fingers?
"You mean I'd have to do this on 32 trees? Every year?"
Who wants honeyberries anyway?
