Too much of a good thing?

A tree heavy with fruit + several days of rain + super soft soil = uprooted tree.

I went out the back door this morning carrying August, dogs following, to get the stroller so we could all go for a run. As I was strapping and leashing everybody up, John opened the kitchen window and pointed to the big empty space over the back gate. Where just yesterday evening there was a giant mass of tree and leaves and figs, now there was just cloudy sky.

"D'oh!" said August, pointing at the empty space.

I had been feeling good about this tree, all of the sweet, slightly exotic homegrown fruit. Enjoying autumn, our own little harvest. I had told several neighbors to stop by and pick some figs for themselves. I was planning at least one more batch of preserves.

And now the tree is down, lying on its side. I wondered, is there symbolism in this sudden crash? I didn't know what the lesson might be, until it struck me later in the day: the tree is me!

Seriously - I have been going non-stop for weeks. Months. Giving, nursing, working, etc, etc 24/7. With hand pain. Not sleeping. If I'm not careful I just might collapse.

After the run I made one last harvest, collecting the last of the ripe fruit (now at least I could reach the ones on the top branches).

We talked about what to make -- figgy pudding? Too bad it isn't Christmas. We talked about whether to cut up the tree, or try to prop it back up, to save it.

In the afternoon, John made pizza dough (D'oh!) with August. He took him outside in the Ergo to enjoy the sun and inspect the tree.

And I took a much needed nap.