I went tree climbing a little bit earlier. I’m not perched high above the creek with my phone in my hand. I am standing in the middle of the creek in the cold water though. I saw that one side of the walkway dam had a couple dozen Osage oranges. The last time I looked them up for trivia, I was amused to see that Pennsylvania residents refer to them as ‘monkey balls.’ 

What still fascinates me about these and the trees that produce them is that only female trees produce the fruit. These are the largest fruits derived from trees in the United States. Thousands of years ago, these trees proliferated because mammoths would eat them and then spread the seeds as they traveled. I’ve still not tried the stinky process of roasting the seeds from these. It can’t be much different than watching my dad “cook” suspicious and unidentified meat, or looking at my mom’s famous Winston cigarette ash-speckled mashed potatoes. 

I did climb the tree in the background of the photo. While I was up there, I practiced a few fake bird calls, hoping passersby might question their sanity or wonder if a small pig was being forced to listen to excerpts of Donald Trump’s book of poetry. 

Ciao.

X

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