Gleaning fruit from abandoned orchards
Gleaning. Now isn’t that an evocative word? It takes me straight to Jane Austen in the scene in Persuasion where Captain Wentworth takes one of the Musgrove sisters to glean cob nuts in the hedgerow, leaving an out of sorts Mary and resigned Anne behind on a damp spot in the woods.
Long pause there. I can’t remember which of the Musgrove sisters it was. Henrietta or Louisa? It must have been Louisa. But were they actually cob nuts? Do I break off now and re-read the book in the cool of the living room with the curtains drawn and the fan on?
No. I will just call them cob nuts and re-read that wonderful novel at leisure later. Of all the Jane Austen novels it is my favourite.
So. Gleaning. We did it today. Not in the cool of an autumn day near Kellynch Hall in Somerset, but in the blazing heat of an Ardèche summer.
But at least we didn’t have so far to trudge.
Just below our farm lies another large property and in between there is an abandoned orchard. It lies beside the road in a little parcel of land that must have been carved out of the property once, and inherited by an absentee farmer. 
Some attempt had been made to prune the trees a few years back; but I must confess I rarely give it a thought as I speed past on my way to and from the farm.
Well! What a mistake. We walked down the road today (heading towards the plodding path that leads, eventually, to the village) and came across an explosion of fruit.
Dare I say plums and marvellous in the same sentence? They looked extraordinary. I think, think mind, they are mirabelles. But it feels way too early for that particular fruit to be ripening. The heat might have brought their fruiting earlier. They are certainly too small to be the normal green gauge plums we have.
Sally and Jane were as delighted as I was to tuck in.
But ah, plums and marvellous still don’t quite match. They looked great, were so juicy I had the discomfort and sticky hands all the way around our three hour circuitous walk. But the taste was bland.
How could orbs so magnificent bring to mind solutions such as poaching in syrup or baking in a tart to try and coax some flavour? These should have been scoffed straight from the tree and having us swooning.
We did scoff. And I kept a sharp lookout in case a car drove past and spotted us.
But we weren’t caught in the act. And if we were the driver would probably have slowed down and said ‘they don’t taste very good, do they?’ I get the feeling everyone around here has gleaned and found them wanting.
