When we were living in Darwin and travelling the globe, the tenants were very hard on some of our plants. Or, should I say, the gardeners they hired and their weed-whackers were very hard on some of our plants. A few were dead before we got home. All were stunted. Some we’ve despaired over. In fact Frank has said on more than one occasion that we should dig up the petrified olive and buy a new one. I am loath to do that because I figure anything strong enough to survive repeated assaults will be an amazing tree when the assaults end.
And look, my olive tree has rewarded me with flowers (I count 4 small clusters).
Not to be outdone, the cherry tree that we actually thought had died at one point has, by my count, 7 cherries. Not a cherry pie in the making, but clearly not dead. Next year the sky’s the limit!
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