Plums

Plums

The plum tree in the back yard was full of juicy fruit, ripe and ready to pick. George and John decided today was the day to climb into that tree and grab a few before mom picked them all to freeze or can or whatever she did to make them all disappear.

They had talked about this last night as they went to sleep, plotting the best way to attack the tree. It had to be right after breakfast, they decided. Right after chores, right before lunch. The busiest time of the day for mom, and at a point where they wouldn’t be noticed.

“Let’s go.” George nudged John when he saw mom go in the house. She’d just hung clothes on the line. She’ll be busy in the house now, he figured. Probably cleaning something they’d messed up.

John dropped the rake. George dropped the trash bag. They scampered up the plum tree. A few of the large branches were full of the fruit, just as they’d thought. Ripe purple plums went into their mouths. More fell to the ground. George inched along the branch to find more plums. John followed his brother.

Mom pushed away the lace curtain at the kitchen window in time to see two boys fall out of the plum tree. They landed with a splat in the pile of ripe plums at the base of the tree. Since they were laughing, she saw no reason to get scared about this.

“What in the world are you two doing?” Mom was standing next to George and John.

“We’re just trying to pick some plums for you. They’re ripe.” George wiped plum mash off his hair, his face, his shirt and his pants. John was eating one.

Mom laughed. “You’re both just plumb foolish.”

W/C 297