Adapting to new realities

My apricot tree rarely produces a bumper crop, but it does its best to produce at least a few fruits each year.

This year’s February and March were months of widely varying weather. The apricot’s first buds appeared at the beginning of March, what amazes me is that they continued to appear. Even now, with the tree fully leafed out, there are still some blossoms.

Do you suppose the tree is adapting to the vagaries of climate change? If so, what is it paying attention to? Weather? Pollinators? Moisture received?

I’ve done no scientific studies, never kept decent records of its blooming dates, nor compared weather to fruit production, but I do wonder if the tree is trying to hedge its bets this year. I’ll let you know how the fruiting turns out.

I, too, am adapting to new realities.

Early in her mourning period, one of the women in my grief group complained to her therapist that she couldn’t sleep. Her therapist asked what time she went to bed. “7:00 o’clock,” she answered. 

I never tried going to bed that early, not with a dog to attend to, but there’s more than one way of turning off one’s memories and emotions. This past year, I spent a lot of hours losing myself in murder mysteries on dvd or escaping into novels. 

But now, in my thirteenth month of widowhood, it seems the time has come to wake up. Those escape routes, especially dvd watching, have slowed down precipitously, though you never know when a book might snatch me away. 

And one more distraction has entered the picture. A trip to visit my daughter. Suddenly I have a deadline for cleaning up the yard, and on figuring out what to pack. An added plus is that the added activity is actually beneficial to my writing projects. And my sleep.

Deadlines! You’ve got to love them. 

Now, what are we going to do about climate change?