The trees keep throwing food at us. Acorns are falling. Pecans are falling. I have never eaten acorns but I can vouch for the pecans. They taste a bit like maple syrup. mmm. I saw an older couple gathering the last of the Mexican plums at the park a few days ago. Sticky sweet. This is a time and land of plenty: the year’s golden hour.
A truly local Central Texas cuisine could be so amazing. Why in the land of weirdness hasn’t any chef done this?
I suppose they are out there even though I’ve never spotted one. I once met a forager who was snipping bunches of green mustang grapes. I asked what she was going to do with them. “Pickling! Local chefs love stuff like this,” she said with some gusto and a little gleam of greed in her eye. I was too shy to ask which local chefs. Regret.
That couple gathering plums must have sharp eyes. The trees have been nearly stripped bare. Looking at you, Mockingbird and Co. …
Speaking of fruit … is that really a giant crater at the bottom of the moon? Imagine if it was the mark left by a flower — like the dent made by the stigma at the bottom of a tomato or melon. I wish I knew some pre-school kids. I’d love to ask them to imagine and draw A Flower for the Moon.