The pears arrived today. To say that they arrive as regularly as the swallows’ return to Capistrano would be hyperbole, but most years around this time, a box of enormous Royal Riviera (a.k.a. Comice) pears lands on our doorstep. Paul’s father, who lives in Oregon on the other side of the coastal range from the orchards where the pears are grown, sends them to us.
Pears are picked green, and these arrived still too hard to eat. A couple of days on the counter to ripen, and they’ll be ready. And so will we.
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