plum tree

We’re not really going to bob for apricots, but we could.

A close-up view of a tree branch laden with green fruits surrounded by various green plants and foliage.

Apricots hang inches from the ground.

Last year, we hired an arborist to prune our grafted plum and apricot tree. They shaped it beautifully, and it produced lots of fruit, most of it plucked clean by the neighborhood squirrels. No matter. The arborist thought the tree would hold its shape for a few years.

Instead, our grafted fruit tree has sent out long branches, heavy with fruit and dangling close to the ground. I had to prune several branches last month to make the path walkable. When I returned from holiday, the weight of the fruit had pulled most of the apricot branches to within inches of the ground,. The plum graft was standing tall.

This morning, I thinned the branches, removing the ones that were once again draped over the walkway, hoping that the substantial weight doesn’t snap limbs from the tree. Not for the first time, I may have left a few strands of my hair and a bit of scalp on a low-lying limb. Ouch.

The cherry tomato plant is producing lots of green tomatoes, and the beefsteak has formed at least 2 large fruits.

To our delight, a volunteer strawberry plant appeared under a shrub in the front garden, then sent out runners for a second and perhaps a third plant. So far we’ve had two berries.

Close-up of strawberry plant leaves and flowers in a garden setting.

Before the advent of tech and the birth of “Silicon Valley,” Santa Clara County was known as the Valley of Heart’s Delight. We were once the largest fruit producer in the United States.

“Overall, California produces roughly 90%of all strawberries grown in the United States, with cultivation occurring year-round across approximately 37,000 acres of the state’s central and southern coastal regions.”

All this is to say that if we want delicious, fresh strawberries, there is no need to grow our own. As we move closer to June, I’m looking forward to smoothies, blueberries with frozen yogurt, strawberries, either alone or on cereal, or blended into fruity drinks.

Do you have a summer favorite?

We enjoyed our first, albeit small, cherry tomato harvest last week, sweet and perfectly formed orbs of goodness. The plant looks healthy, with clusters of green tomatoes just a few days away from another harvest.

Our second tomato plant is an heirloom beefsteak variety. The fruit is taking longer to form, given its size, but soon they’ll ripen as well. Eating garden tomatoes is one of the great pleasures of summer.

Our highly anticipated plum and apricot haul has been a bust, unless you’re a bird, an opossum, a tree rat, or a squirrel.

When the dog’s away, the rest of the critters play, moving through the branches, sampling the fruit, then moving on as the fruit loosens from its stone and falls to the ground. One of the not-so-great aspects of summer is sun-baked, rotting fruit and the fruit flies that love them.

Not for the first time, I’ve mused that since we’ve encroached on nature to a great extent, allowing the neighborhood critters to feast from the tree seems reasonable. There’s always a local farmer’s market.

Last week, I crawled along one of the pathways in the late afternoon and cleared most of the stubborn weeds that grow under the gravel and the stone path. I counted on the late-afternoon shade to get the job done.

Gorgeous pink Gladiolas came and went, spectacular while they bloomed. I’m still not burying the bulbs deep enough, so the plants lean as they get taller and heavier. I need to dig even deeper. That said, they were spectacular just the same.

A few weeks ago I discovered a praying mantis ootheca or egg case on the fence. The case looks like half of a walnut shell. These insects are coveted by gardeners, so much so that you can buy egg cases at nurseries and online. I’m delighted to have spotted it when I did, and pleased to have the resulting hatchlings in my garden.

Praying Mantis ootheca, also know as an egg case

We see several fence lizards this time of year. This one played an unwitting game of hide-and-seek with me, darting under a flower pot when I walked up the path, then returning to the sun when the proverbial coast was clear.

We would forget about each other, carry on with gardening and sunbathing, and then startle each other again.

A single sunflower seed planted itself not far from our bedroom window, and it’s now twice as tall as the tomato plant and quickly approaching the height of our house.

That corner is nearly impassable these days, between the sprawling bougainvillea, the expanding tomato plant, the sky-high sunflower, and the overhanging succulents. I like to think of it as my secret garden each time I squeeze through.

Here are a few parting shots of this summer’s garden. It never fails to delight.