Here’s what I did this weekend . . . . I plucked a bazillion (estimated number) plums from the trees in front of my house. I have mixed feelings about these trees. It’s nice to think I can actually grow something, and my friends are eager to use them in plum wine and plum tarts and plum soup (?) but there are so many freaking plums! If I don’t pick them, they start dropping to the ground below, where they ferment and rot and attract bees and flies and stain the sidewalk and stick to the roof of my car.

So it’s a two-part operation: First, I extend my ladder to its maximum length and lean it dangerously against the high branches of the tree so I can reach the plums on top. Then, after I’ve picked a few bushels and dozens have dropped to the ground from all the shaking and jiggling, I put the ladder away and start scraping the plum carcasses off the sidewalk with a snow shovel, depositing them in my compost bin until trash pickup day. This process gets repeated weekly until the trees are empty or winter comes.

At least my coworkers, who never turn down free food, are getting their plum jones satisfied. If you’re in my neighborhood, help yourself.