Meeting the Pomegranate

Forty years of gardening should have taught me better than to assume that all pomegranates look like the big red ones we see in grocery stores this time of year. Pomegranates don’t grow in Kansas, of course, so my acquaintance with pomegranates has been limited to the commercial ones.

This is by way of explaining why I let the pomegranates on the tree outside my kitchen window almost go too far. I was waiting for them to turn ruby red. I kept waiting but the only evident color change was the tree’s leaves turning yellow.

I worried that the tree was sick, but learned that pomegranates are deciduous and drop their foliage even in the desert. Still I waited for the pomegranate fruit to turn red.

I waited until last weekend when Grant said, “Grandma, one of your pomegranates is splitting open. I think you’d better harvest.”

The splitting pomegranate easily came apart and indeed it was ripe and ready. The shells obviously never turned red, but are pinkish with green blotches.

I’ve learned a lot about pomegranate trees since then. There are at least eight varieties of pomegranates with softer seeds and five varieties that are juicier but have hard seeds. Their fruits vary from yellow through pinkish, to red. The hard-seeded kinds are used to make juice.

Unlike tree fruits I have known, the pomegranate fruit does not fall to the ground when it is over-ripe. It clings so tightly to its supporting branch that it ought to be cut off with pruning clippers to prevent damage to the tree. Instead of dropping, the fruit splits open to allow its seeds fall to the ground. Expert advice calls for judging the readiness of the fruit not by its color but by its size.

Pomegranates need full sun to do well. Our tree occupies a four-foot-wide space between a ten-foot wall and the wall of our casita. It gets no sun except for an hour in the morning. I won’t be expecting a big crop of pomegranates next year, but, by golly, if there are any at all I will know when and how to harvest them.

Copyright 2015 by Shirley Domer.

Welcome to Tucson

The Midwest has a reputation of being inhabited by friendly people, but in my experience Tucson has the Midwest beat. Everywhere we go in Tucson people are friendly and welcoming; moreover, they go out of their way to be helpful. We have been here only one month and already have several new friends and a busy social life.

One new friend is Annie, who invited us to a Thanksgiving Eve dinner at her home in the foothills. Annie and her many friends cooked up a spectacular meal. Here she is, preparing to carve the turkey.

Here’s my plate, just before I dug in. There were the traditional green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, turkey, and gravy. There was a white sweet potato dish, corn pudding with chilies, and a delicious mélange of Brussels sprouts, bacon, dried tomatoes and mystery ingredients.

The next day we enjoyed another Thanksgiving with Grant and Blair, Lindsay and Gabe, and Blair’s friends from Italy. It was another parade of good cooking. Grant roasted vegetables on the grill.

He also spatecocked a turkey. If you don’t know what that is, join the crowd. It’s a turkey with the backbone removed. That allows the turkey to flatten out and cook evenly. The turkey roasted directly on the oven rack, which was positioned over a large pan of dressing. The turkey juices dripped into the dressing, making it even more moist and flavorful.

Blair made several dishes, including spicy cheese puff appetizers.

When describing Tucsonans from now on I will be naming not only their friendliness but also their remarkable culinary skills.

Copyright 2015 by Shirley Domer

Trip to Tubac

On Sunday, remembering the old saw, “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” we took a day off from putting our casita in order. Instead we drove south on I-19 to Tubac to hear some live music and spend time with our new friend Judy. We sat on the patio at Dos!, a taqueria located in a cluster of specialty shops, basked in the 79º fresh air, and listened to Amber Norgaard sing her own songs along with a few old favorites such as “Bobby McGee.”

Before we left Tucson I asked our new granddaughter, a Tucson native, what she could tell me about Tubac. She said she has never been there because it attracts  an older crowd, meaning retirees. Indeed, when we arrived in Tubac the dominant demographic was definitely we old folks, humming along to Amber’s excellent rendition of “Bobby MeGee.”

When Amber packed up her guitar and keyboard, Dennis and I decided to visit a few of the artisans' shops before setting off for home. One was Tubac Territory, the showcase for 10 local artisans. The store was crammed with massive hand-built mesquite furniture. Many of the tabletops and serving trays were inlaid with turquoise chips, but my eye was drawn to the inlaid spalted maple bowls.

We soon concluded that Tubac is a micro Taos. Tubac has far fewer shops than Taos, but both are high-end tourist towns. No wonder the colony is located in proximity to both Sierra Vista and Green Valley, two retirement communities for well-to-do retirees.

The most interesting (not to say entertaining) part of our trip to Tubac was the drive down and back I-19. On the way south I was amazed to see copper mine tailings, piled as high as some of the surrounding foothills and miles long.

On the return trip the ever-changing view of a nearby mountain and the rising moon held me captive.

I-17 is an anomaly amongst highways in that the distance markers are in kilometers. (Sorry about the dirty windshield.)

The border check station provides shade for the border agents and for cars waiting in line to be cleared for passage north.

It was an easy pass for two Caucasian codgers, but I doubt it would have been so simple for our browner-skinned neighbors. Life near the border gives us a different perspective. Despite the almost entirely white-faced Tubac scene, southern Arizona is a refreshing mix of ethnicities, skin colors, and cultures. We welcome the change.

Copyright 2015 by Shirley Domer

Life behind Bars

When my nephew saw me sitting in our tiny back porch he said, “Aunt Shirley, you look like you’re in jail.” Well, no wonder. I was sitting behind the barred back door.

Our tiny house also has barred windows in the kitchen and living room as well as a barred entry door.

Many houses in Tucson sport barred windows and doors. These architectural features are part of the Hispanic tradition. Rejas – wrought iron bars – were a hallmark of wealthy homes, according to the Handbook of Hispanic Cultures in the United States. * I’m guessing that the barred windows were originally used in traditional adobe houses built in Tucson, but this practice has spread to a variety of architectural styles, even brick ranch-style houses.

Contemporary barred window installations feature escape mechanisms that homeowners can use in case of fire, but older ones, such as ours, are firmly fixed in place. The fixed barred windows have sometimes led to deaths because inhabitants were unable to escape their burning houses.

We have given a lot of thought to escape plans and feel relatively secure living in our barred casita, but sometime in the near future we may make changes. In the meantime, here we are, living behind bars.

*Arte Publico Pr, 1994

Copyright 2015 by Shirley Domer

Settling In

Slowly we are settling in at the casita. Frankly, it had not been well cared for. The inside walls had been repainted and a wall-to-wall carpet installed, but the ancient kitchen stove was broken and the refrigerator was missing a shelf, dented, and dirty. The windows were covered with grime and the kitchen and bathroom floors were very dirty.

First we replaced the kitchen stove, but it arrived badly dented and damaged.

We have a new energy-efficient refrigerator, but the damaged stove has gone back to the store.

The stove replacement won’t be here until the day after Thanksgiving, and that’s just fine. Here is the great advantage of intergenerational living: we will prepare meals in the main house.

This afternoon Dennis tackled the dirty windows. Isn’t it amazing how clean windows brighten a home?

We still need some furniture and lamps, but our tiny casita – less than one-third the size of our Kansas home – is beginning to seem like home.

Copyright 2015 by Shirley Domer