The Lime Tree

Israel is a country with a long history of growing just about every kind of citrus except one. Stroll through any market I know of and you will not find limes. There are oranges and grapefruit of every description, pomelos and a gazillion lemons, some of which are deceptively green. But if you want limes you pretty much have to grow them yourself.

I loved my lime tree from the moment it was planted. The gardener called the next day to apologize for not checking with me about the price and offered to replace it with a smaller, cheaper one. I said no thanks, we've already bonded. But the tree has never been the kind of lush citrus that I see in other places and I didn't know why.

It has its own watering system controlled by the garden guy's computer and the soil is the same as in the rest of the kibbutz. When I talked to the gardener he said I should give it more fertilizer. This produced more limes but still not so many leaves and branches. The poor thing was looking so scraggly and unloved that I was quite distraught. What could be the problem?

Then it dawned on me. I would never dare besmirch the garden guy's automated system, his knowledge of plants or his computer controls, but maybe it wasn't getting enough water? I started to take a bucket out to it every day. After two weeks it had tiny green leaves sprouting all over. That was a month or two ago and the tree is noticeably better. Still not lush, but better.

New problem: what am I going to do with all these limes? Lime pie, limeade. There are only so many gin-and-tonics one can drink. Margaritas. Does lime go with rosemary garlic chicken?