Life: Idiotropic

If I am to ever be a farmer, I have now discovered my crop.  The humble níspero whose season is short, but impression is deep.  The sound itself is sweet.  I discovered it the day we moved in and my landlord pointed out the funny looking tree with the big leaves in our back yard.   Níspero, níspero, níspero.

In April they began to grow and by early May there were a few that were orange and ready, but I didn't quite know what to do with them.

Then our friends came over.  They're from Callosa, the land of the níspero, the town where all the nísperos of Spain are grown and exported.  Younger Enrique picked one off the tree, pealed off the thin skin easily with his fingers, pulled the small fruit apart and took out the two large brown seeds, then removed the small white membrane inside handing me what remained, a very juicy little fruit.

It's wet like a watermelon, but with a firmer flesh.  Star fruit came to mind then.  Wet, but with no distinctive flavor.  May be it was just not quite ready. The girls pulled up a stool and started picking and eating nísperos as quickly as they could.  It was an instant hit with the younger set.

A week later, I tried one and it was amazing.  Delicious.  Sweet with just a bit of tartness.  Juicy and refreshing.  Not soft like a peach, nor crisp like an apple, but a perfect compromise in the middle.  Dense and delicious.

So when on my birthday my friends drove up from Callosa that day bearing two large crates of nísperos, we were all happy.   Several of my friends had not tried the níspero before.  I put a bowl on the table to share and soon the lesson began again  just like I had on the first day.  First peal off the thin skin like this...

June now and the season is over.  They've nearly disappeared from the markets and only a few remain on my tree.  Sad.  Now we must wait 11 months for our next batch.