Whilst I was working (I’ve always wanted to use that word, “whilst”), I was a firm believer in the power of doing. Since retiring, I have pretty much moved all that to the side.

That is until I planted a dwarf lemon tree.

Living in the desert, one might question: How do you grow anything in that barren inferno?  I tend to agree, especially since I have one of the brownest thumbs in the world.

Problem is I also have a thing for homemade lemonade and my spouse loves a lemon twist in his vodka cran. I thought it would really be something to grow my own fruit. So, one February four years ago I planted a Meyers Lemon tree.

Don’t ask me how I did it, but by May, the tree had died. Maybe I watered too much, too little or perhaps Palm Springs’ desert “soil” (a mixture of sand and dirt), was just too harsh an environment for my sad, little sapling.

Undaunted, I scurried back to the nursery and armed with a new Lisbon Lemon, I prepped the soil and popped that puppy in. At first, my Lisbon looked like the tree in A Charlie Brown Christmas. Like that tale, I was determined that a little bit of love was all that was needed for it to flourish with a bounty of lemons.

What I learned was, that was a good start.

Truth be told, I am now on year four of waiting for my lemons to come to fruit-ion, but more on that later.

A few years after planting, I got my first buds. I was excited to see them bloom and I eagerly waited for them to be replaced by mini-fruits. After a few desert windstorms my buds became dust in the wind.

In between, I continued my ritual of water adjustments, fertilizer administration and positive vibe projection. To combat the windstorms and bug predators, I began wrapping the tree in netting, and in the hot summer months, I canopied it to prevent it from sunburn.

Soon, my little Lisbon had become as high maintenance as my previous relationship.

Don’t laugh, but I even started talking to it: You got this little tree, When you gonna give papa some big juicy fruit! It seemed to respond favorably, as it continued growing. Soon, branches spread in all directions as if it wished to give its surrogate papa a big hug.

Each spring, my spouse would laugh, Don’t get your hopes up, that tree is barren to which I’d admonish, You wait and see Charlie Brown, er I mean, never mind.

Flash forward to this year, the Lisbon was once again awash in a bounty of buds. I started to palpitate as a few of them turned into mini-fruit. Then, slowly the mini-fruits disappeared.

I don’t know if it was wind or insects or what, but my heart grew heavy. I had done everything imaginable and yet, my tree was bare.

Until one day, I noticed a little bulb hidden under a leaf. I couldn’t believe my eyes, but there sat a finger-nail sized green fruit. I was beyond the moon.

A few days later more buds started appearing, but by now it was May, and rather warm, so they fell off. That left my orphan lemon all alone, but each day I looked at it and smiled.

Sad to say, after a month, that too dropped to the ground. I held a burial for my little fruitling, burying it at the base of the tree so it could nourish future growth.

My little lemon tree has taught me many lessons. I have learned a sort of zen patience, meaning I will wait for however long it takes to grow fruit and if it doesn’t bear out, I can accept that too.

I have also discovered that there is true beauty in the process of nature. I have gotten great joy in seeing my little Lisbon grow and I marvel at the symmetry of it all. Every now and then I inhale the clean, fresh smell of citrus and it calms my senses.

In looking at my experience, I see that my lovely Lisbon has brought me much, much more than fruit. In the meantime, I will continue waiting… patiently.

And, with that, I end this as Poolside from PS.