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?

Summer's End

It rained yesterday for the first time since April. Summer is gone and no amount of wishing can bring it back. Those hot, steamy, sunny days – all gone. Sensible people here pray for rain. We depend on it since our benighted government can't seem to manage sufficient desalination. So the water has to come from the heavens.

I don't like rain. It's wet, nasty stuff. It gets under your collar and runs down your neck. It's cold. And just when you think it's over, a great big drop hits you smack in the eye. But, and I realize this might seem like a contradiction, I love water. I love the look of it and relish every glimpse of the sea. When I have enough money for a water feature in the garden, I plan to spend every free minute just sitting and looking at it.

What I don't like is being attacked by those cold little drops from the sky that leave sludgy spots on the windows. This could be because I come from a place where it rained all the time, except when it snowed. We saw the sun once a decade if we were lucky. So Israel's glorious heat and relentless sunshine is a miracle to me.

It rained yesterday and again this morning. As I look out into the garden, the plants look wonderful. They've all been washed of their summer grunge and seem to be grateful for the extra water. I'll try to find comfort in this.