When we moved back to the farm we planted a shelter belt.
The row of juneberries included some taller trees.
Although these trees were markedly different than the other bushes, since the juneberry row had been planted by the Soil Conservation Service, I assumed all were juneberries.
The trees blossomed earlier than the bushes in the row. I assumed that was because they were juneberry trees and not bushes.
Their branches were completely different than the juneberry bushes, but I watched for berries to appear each summer. There couldn't be great clusters as there are on bushes, there just weren't enough blossoms, but the deer couldn't reach them, so that must be the advantage.
Finally, after years of waiting, Bill clued me in. The trees are apricots. I gave up hope. I have only seen apricots produce once before in GriggsDakota.
Fifteen years ago, my grandpa had apricots on his tree.
This year we have apricots on ours.
Fifteen years ago, my grandpa was sick and living in the nursing home. I picked his apricots and took them into him in a bowl. We drank coffee and ate apricots. They were delicious.
This year our apricots are sweet and tasty.
That afternoon coffee was the last one I ever had with Grandpa and Grandma. Grandpa died later that August.
Each GriggsDakota apricot is a golden egg.
A miracle in our climate.
A delicious memory of Grandpa, whose tree never produced, before or since that one year etched in my memory.
I will look at these trees differently from now on, and wonder if I will live to see another crop of apricots in GriggsDakota.