loquats, and leaving

Saturday is harvest day. Usually fairly mellow. Greens in the morning (usually asian mix and herbs for me), tougher stuff once the heat of the day comes on, pack the truck in the afternoon to be ready for market in the morning.

But today, we went on an adventure, down the road in Margie’s blue minivan to fetch the season’s first load of loquats.

Steve, the grower, gave us a few tall ladders and walked us through the grove, past lychees and longans and tangerines, to the loquat trees growing along the fenceline by the neighbor’s abandoned avocado grove.

These trees were some serious business, very tall, nothing like the fastidiously pruned apples, plums, peaches, and pears I worked with back north. And of course, the ripest clusters had a way of being clustered waaay up on tree, just out of reach. But we easily managed to pick what we needed.

Which brings us to the real question-

What the hell is a loquat?

Until this afternoon I had not seen a loquat, eaten a loquat, or even heard anyone say ‘loquat’ (it’s such a funny word, I’m sure I would have remembered). So I may not be the best person to answer that question. But considering how many we ate while picking, popping them like grapes in the shady grove, i can give it a shot.

They are small, about the size of a dried fig, and the skin has a little bit of fuzz to it, like a peach, but not so much that you can’t stand to eat it, like a kiwi. The seeds are big, they take up about half the cavity space, and very smooth, fun to spit. They grow on the tree in clumps and snap off easily when ripe.

The taste varies depending on the level of maturity. Loquats that are still pale yellow with a touch of green have this addictive citrusy acidity thing going on, tasting sort of like a peach and sort of like an orange. Ones that are dead ripe, orange with brown spots, taste a lot like apricots.

Luckily for us, the ones that taste the best are the ones that people are not inclined to buy – they’re mottled and wrinkly, brown spotted, homely. We saved them for the crew to eat, and maybe to cook with.

Picking loquats was my last harvest at Bee Heaven Farm. Bright and early Monday morning, Homer and I are getting in the truck and heading North, back to the land of ice and snow.

Perhaps foolishly, I can’t wait to leave tropical paradise. I’ve loved my time here, but I am so excited for the season to come on the island, I am so ready to start a farm, to run the show. Not apprentice. Not intern. Not manage. Not share crop.

Farm. I just want to farm.