It pays to have a dad who’s an artist. How cool is this? I’m taking this as a direct challenge to myself to see if I can paint tiny animal’s on Bug’s fingers. I’ll probably fail miserably but I’m still going to try! She better hold still.
Lemon tree very pretty and the lemon flower is sweet
but the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat. –Peter Paul and Mary song
It’s that time of year again: Lemon Season.
I have a crazy little dwarf Meyer lemon tree in my backyard that practically turns itself inside out every year to put out a bumper crop of bright orange lemons. I don’t know why they are orange. They just are. But the color isn’t that big of a deal, it’s the sheer amount of lemons that blows my mind every year.
There are so many lemons I don’t know what to do with them! I try to give them away but everybody around here has their own lemon tree that is exploding. When I drive into Orange County I take a bag or two with me but I still can’t get rid of them fast enough. I don’t know why lemons cost 49 cents in the store. They should be free! I wish I could sell mine at the store, I’d make a killing!
Bug and I have picked basket full after basket full and we have not even made a dent.
When I cut the lemons off the branches, it’s almost as if the branches sigh with relief and raise up an inch or two. Poor poor over-productive lemon tree.
So that’s what we’re doing in our spare time. Picking and juicing lemons. I don’t know what to do with them all. I don’t even have an oven to make lemon bars!
Of course Bug knows what to do. She wants a lemonade stand. She’s been begging and begging so finally this last Saturday I let her set up business again. She had high hopes since she made a whole eight dollars in one hour last year. But the problem here is we don’t really have the traffic we had at the beach. There are no trucks full of contractors driving by, falling all over themselves to give a smiley kid a quarter. Here we live on a cul-de-sac and the most traffic we get is an ice cream truck and a gardener or two. Sometimes people come down our street to look for recyclables in our trash. They certainly don’t want to buy anything.
So we painted a sign. (My favorite part.)
And we juiced about a thousand lemons. I saved some in ice cube trays for those months when we have no lemons.
I also grated a ton o’ zest. And I froze it on a cookie sheet so I could fill a giant plastic bag with it without it sticking together. (It worked like a charm.)
And then she set up shop. Poor kid. She only had three customers. One was her buddy across the street and the other two were just neighbors. Grandma wouldn’t even buy any because she’s on a no-sugar diet. I guess next time we’ll have to make some with Splenda.
Then her friend across the street joined her business and they hatched up a plan to make more money next weekend when our neighbors have a garage sale. Lemon sandwich boards were even discussed. It could be quite exciting. Except I think I have to babysit in Orange County on Saturday so those plans might be dashed.
We’ll have to think of something. It’s a shame to let all this enterprising spirit go to waste.
Maybe we’ll take the lemonade stand-rock star show on the road.