The peach tree came into my life sometime in the year or so after B—’s death, when a then-new and now dear friend, probably realizing I needed to get out of the house more, dragged me along to a small tree-grafting class held by a passionate organic farmer.

After the session, which I enjoyed more than I expected to, I asked the farmer if he thought one of the fruit trees he had for sale would be alright living in a pot; then as now, my living space had no actual land, everything was in pots. Yes, he said, but after some time—I think he said two years—I should give it away to someone I liked who had land where it could grow up properly and be happy. I remember the way he said it, his concern for the little tree’s well-being.

So I bought a small peach tree, little more than a stick, an imported variety grafted onto hardy local rootstock. It eventually blossomed, and one peach took. When I had to unexpectedly and quickly move here in the spring of 2021, it was large but not yet ripe. It seemed unlikely to survive the moving truck, but it did.

**

In an amusing aside, a friend that was helping me with the move told me he overheard the movers discussing it.

“Shall we eat that fruit?”

“No, let’s leave it, she only has one,” the other replied.

**

I did get to eat that peach, but it was the first and for a long time the last. As you can probably tell, I have kept the tree for a lot longer than was recommended; it grew but never fruited again and last year seemed to be struggling and unhappy. I had enjoyed having it so much but also remembered the farmer’s words with a touch of guilt and decided it was time to let it go. I asked three different people who had varying degrees of land and space, but no one seemed particularly enthusiastic or took me up on the offer. I was afraid the tree was on its last legs, though, so I cut it back considerably sometime near the end of last year.

Instead of dying, it came back to life, bursting with more blossoms than I’d ever seen on it, a majority of which set into cute little peaches peeking out between the leaves, growing bigger every day.

Last Wednesday, I felt one, found it ripe and ate it. It was smaller than the first one years ago, but, to my mind, much tastier, and I was looking forward to the others, which were still hard.

**

On Thursday, the day after I ate the peach and wrote my last post, I went out to my balcony and found that a monkey, or monkeys, had decided the peaches were ready to eat, too. Three little pits were lined up in a row on the balcony wall, along with bits of peach flesh and one that must have just been too hard, or the monkey too full, as it only had a few bites taken out of it. More scraps and seeds were on the ground around the base of the pot. Considering how hard the peaches were and how much was scattered about, I hope the monkey(s) at least got to enjoy some of what they were eating.

There was only one peach left on the tree.

In retrospect, I guess I should have picked it, but it still didn’t seem ready, so I left it. The next morning it was gone, too, and a few days after that I was opening the balcony door when a large monkey swung down the banister of the curving staircase that leads up to the roof, over the outside sink and the wall and off and away. You can bet I stayed inside for a while afterwards, to make sure it was really gone. I wondered if it was the peach-eater; while monkeys occasionally visit my small back balconies and I often see them on other roofs and water tanks, they have not been regulars on my large, main balcony. This one seemed larger than one I’d seen a few weeks ago, sitting on the ledge of a neighbouring house, ripping a piece of clothing to shreds and eating bits as it did so, but it could have been the same one. Maybe it was just really hungry.

**

In all the YouTube videos about gardening I’ve watched—I particularly enjoy the ones about backyard edible forests—foraging simians were never part of the equation. My peach tree clearly wanted to live and put out fruit, and I knew it was time to keep my word and find it a happy home, hopefully monkey free, where it can put down roots and grow much bigger than it ever will in a pot on my balcony.

**

In an interesting bit of serendipity, I met with a couple of friends yesterday evening, and one of them was the same person who’d helped me move and had overheard the discussion about the lone peach. I remembered him mentioning that his parents’ home had a sizeable garden—we’ve all been gifted fruit from their avocado trees—and asked if he thought they’d like a peach tree.

After the previous lack of interest, his enthusiasm was encouraging. “I think my mother would love it,” he said, and we discussed whether the pot was too large to be driven on a scooter and made tentative plans for moving it.

**

The peach tree is still in its spot by the compost bin for now, on top of which Marv loves to bask in the sun and generally look photogenic (the compost bin, not the tree!), but this time I know that it really will be on its way to a new home soon. It’s one of my older plants, and I’m going to miss it, silly as that may sound, but I think it’s time. And knowing it’s going to someone who will be happy to have it and care for it well makes me happy.

In the meantime, the everything-planter is bursting out with pumpkin and green bean plants and more; I threw a bunch of extremely old seeds in there to see if any would take, and some certainly have! There’s been rain and everything is growing madly and I’m really hoping that if they become more than just leaves, monkeys won’t find those particular vegetables as tasty as they clearly find fruit. Or maybe since there’s nothing to eat here at the moment, they’ll stop dropping by before then.

I guess I’ll soon find out. Gardening really is an adventure.

(And I finally get to use the photos of the inexplicable graffiti I spotted in March of last year, in two separate places just meters apart. I have wondered about the why of it ever since.)

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