Ginger Pear Tarts
“At Thanksgiving he would go home, and then he would be sure. He might never come back. He remembered that Abra had once suggested that they go to live on the ranch, and that became his dream. He remembered the great oaks and the clean living air, the clean sage-laced wind from the hills and the brown oak leaves scudding. He could see Abra there, standing under a tree, waiting for him to come in from his work.”
East of Eden, John Steinbeck
Inspiration
The trees in my neighborhood are magnificent Liquid Ambers. They are fully grown, standing in all their glory at sixty plus feet. They have been part of the neighborhood since it’s beginning in the late fifties, when our home was built. These trees can live for four hundred years! They are so large, the sidewalks have moved out of their way. Every fall the vibrant green leaves slowly turn golden amber and muted red. The leaves begin to drop, blanketing the neighborhood yards and streets. With the winter rains, our street gutters become clogged with leaves. The trees are so tall, leaves fall and blow into our back yard. Branches break off in the wind. One year, we arrived home from a trip to find our truck covered in a limb from cab to bumper. It was so large the city was called to cart it away. And yet, when I see the city’s Urban Forestry truck in the neighborhood I feel panic and dread. Our neighborhood would be empty without the comforting canopy of trees watching over us. Houses, cars, asphalt, cement and overhead wires would dominate our view. I listen for the trucks and pray “Please do not cut these magnificent trees down, please go away.” While making these Pear Tarts I had heard the trucks and their nasty little chipper and knew it was time to quietly say another prayer.
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