The Introduction

Ann

I like Bosc pears and Red Anjou pears. Those are the only two kinds of pears I like. There. You know more about me than my ex-boyfriend did when he bought a Bartlett pear tree for my yard. And because life is stranger than fiction he and Dorothy Partridge were upstairs eating Bartlett pears in my bed when he became my ex.

Don’t feel sorry for me, it was a few years ago now, and although it’s a bitter memory which lingers due to the fact that I can’t bring myself to take out the saw and destroy a life, I’m not sad about it anymore. In fact, I view the whole experience as a lucky escape. The tree is a reminder to, well, make sure your boyfriend cares enough about you to verify your fruit preferences before committing you to a tree for life.

The Bartlett is huge now, and it supplies half my neighborhood with pears every year. In exchange I take any fruit, vegetable, egg, jar of honey, maple syrup or wild mushrooms going. I haven’t had to eat one pear yet. It sounds like I live in the country, but it just happens to be a suburb full of interesting and talented people. None of them object to Bartlett pears which is lucky because I get several bushels without fail.

My house is the oldest one in the neighborhood and has the biggest lot-a little over two acres. It has a covered porch across the front and is painted a soft, dreamy, cloud white. The yard is picturesque and somehow has a little bit of whitewashed wood picket fence magic about it.

When the pears start to get ripe each year, I hold a neighborhood barbecue to inaugurate the season and people come over every day afterwards and pick pears until they are gone.

One year my next door neighbor’s daughter got married under the tree and we opened both yards for the reception. It was after the tree had already bloomed for the year, but all my climbing roses around the yard were covered in flowers and a pair of mourning doves had made a nest overhead in the branches so you could hear them cooing over the guitar version of the Wedding March.

Mrs. Smith who lives on the other side of my house keeps light buff colored Faverolle chickens. They like to roam and they are pretty friendly. They have found a place to get into my yard by squeezing under the fence. Mrs. Smith sells some of the eggs, but she said I could just have any they lay in my yard. There is one spot under a bush near the pear tree they like. I usually get a half dozen a week in nice weather which is plenty for a single person who doesn’t do much baking. The chickens are named Faith, Hope and Charity. Hope is my favorite. She stands on the shovel whenever I’m digging and scouts for overturned worms and larvae.

You’ll be relieved to know that except for the swans and geese down at the natural pond the builders had the sense to make into a beautiful neighborhood park, maintained with a little contribution from all the residents, this is the end of any resemblance between my life and the Christmas song.

Back to the pear preferences. If I happened to be writing an ad to put online on a dating site-you know- Tender or one of those-because I think I’m ready for a new boyfriend and there isn’t anyone at my job- do you think I should add something about caring? You know? I think I could rule out a lot of people that way. Just wants someone who gives a s**t about me. Is that too straightforward? Maybe I should keep a secret checklist and tick off things I like and don’t like. I can file and make spreadsheets. Honestly, the whole idea of “getting back out there” makes my heart sink down to the tops of my boots. Ankle boots, not thigh highs.

Maybe it would be better to start a new hobby. It could be one where I’d be likely to meet some interesting guys but it would have to be something I’m genuinely interested in, because if I met someone that way, there is no doubt in my mind they’d be passionate about whatever it is. Ones that immediately come to mind are hiking (must like waking up in a place with no shower), fishing (standing thigh high in a cold river in floppy boots), cycling (the hills), and hunting (aside from avoiding killing things as a rule, even large scary spiders get a free ride to the great outdoors, my temper has ruled that one out since childhood).

I don’t enjoy hanging out in bars by myself and most of my friends I would have gone with in the past are married with a kid and one on the way. No weddings coming up this year, not even a surprise party as far as I know.

The advice I get is that things happen when you aren’t looking, the watched pot never boils sort. No one ever says what happens when you don’t watch the pot and it boils over.

Peter

I bought a house today. I still can’t believe I could actually swing that. The people living in the neighborhood seemed friendly when I first came to see it with the real estate agent. One of them, I think her name was Mary, was out walking her dog around the block, and stopped to say ‘hi’. She lives behind me and one house down and sells eggs around the neighborhood. I guess people are used to seeing her chickens roaming around. She says they go home every night to sleep. It sounds like having teenagers.

There is an older farmhouse directly behind my house. It must have been here before the rest of the houses were built. The lot is much bigger than any of the others. An enormous pear tree is blocking most of the view, but I guess the garden will be more visible in the fall. It looks like the owners love flowers as well, there are a couple trellises covered in yellow roses.

Mary invited me to a barbecue at that house if I bought the place. She said not to worry, the whole neighborhood goes every year. I think it will be a good way to meet people. I’ll be pretty busy unpacking, going to work and taking care of my mom over at her apartment until then anyway. There’s a nice little park where I can run in the mornings before leaving for work.

Ann

I decided to try running before work as a potential way to meet people, so I went out this morning just to try it out. I ran down to the pond, more a combination of running and walking, since I’m really out of shape, and noticed this guy! Bingo! Of course at that moment I tripped and fell. I caught myself with my hands. I scraped them pretty badly, bits of gravel in the cuts, and my cheek hit the ground too. Luckily it missed my eye. I kind of just laid there for a few seconds to get my breath back and realized the guy was crouched next to me asking if I was ok. I sat up kind of slowly, bruised ego in addition to the scrapes.

He helped me up and walked me home. It turns out he just moved into the house behind mine. He seems really nice. I admitted it was my first time out and he said he had just started running a month ago to get back in shape and he still spent part of the time walking. His goal is to run the whole course in one of the local 5K races in October. Great idea! I should have thought of that myself.

Mary apparently already invited him to ‘Pearfest’ so if I don’t knock him down next time I’m out, I’ll see him then. My hands hurt.

Mary

Oh my! Ann just came hobbling up with Peter next to her. He seems like a nice young man. I was hoping they’d meet right away. Maybe I’ll run over and make sure she is ok when he leaves. Oh dear, I think she needs more help!

Ann

Mary saw me hobbling up the porch steps guided by my white knight and came running over. I kind of wished she had waited, but on the other hand, I’m sure Peter had a job to get to. He had that kind of nervous air toward the end of the walk home.

•••

When I got home from work tonight there was a little bouquet of flowers in a jar and a get well note from Peter. How sweet!

Peter

When I woke up today, I remembered today was the pear festival in Ann’s yard. I think it starts around lunch time. I need to bring something so I’ll go to the store this morning. I think I’ll get some red and brown pears to bring, just as a joke. The pears on Ann’s tree look green.