The Lemon Madness
It’s winter here, and the branches of our Meyer lemon tree drip with fruit.
This is what it looks like after it’s already been picked, many many times. Paper shopping bags filled with lemons. A plastic cooler stuffed with lemons. Van Gogh said yellow is the color of joy, and so it must be a very joyful time in our house. It must.
“I think the tree produced even more than last year,” Marie tells me. “We’re so lucky.”
Winter is also when my wife succumbs to the Lemon Madness.
Like the mother in Blueberries for Sal, Marie cooks big pots of fruit and buys thick bags of sugar. She plucks sterilized jars, fresh and new, from a boiling vat with almost obstetrical forceps. She cans what she can.
Meyer lemons are a sweeter variety, and the lemon marmalade Marie makes is very, very good. When the last jar of it is finished—some time this August, most likely—I will hunt in vain for more.
“There’s still so many lemons,” Marie says. Not to me, but I hear her. “Don’t want them to go to waste!”
She dries Meyer lemon rounds and reduces lemons to syrup to give as cocktail mixers and garnish to friends. “Meyer Christmas,” she tells them, unaware of her slip.
She cuts thin slices of lemon peel and candies it. The candied peel will go into jars, too. Soon they’ll sit next to jars of last year’s peels, which have grown pale and hard as nail clippings.
Marie’s web browser is tabbed and tabbed again with recipes, so many that each tab is too small to see. Her laptop has the Madness, too—they’re finishing each other’s sentences. “Lemons,” it suggests, when you type an L. Or a P, or a semicolon. “LEMONS,” Marie answers at night, in her sleep. She says it just once, but loudly, and without waking.
Do you know some believe Van Gogh ate yellow paint in an attempt to poison himself? I mention that apropos of nothing.
It’s like the old saying, right? When life gives you lemons, make lemonade and lemon marmalade and lemon curd and lemon loaves and candy the peels and give lemons to the neighbors and leave a bag of lemons at the food pantry and finally start pruning back the lemon tree just hack at it because it’s too much it’s too much and THIS TREE DOES NOT TELL US WHAT TO DO.
If you live near us, come get your lemons. It doesn’t matter when you read this, we still have some. Also oranges. Kind of a lot of tangelos too, if I’m being honest.
Oh I wish I could swing by and pick some up! Question— has she tried preserving the meyer lemons (in salt) with bay leaves and black peppercorns? I bet she has... or something similar. I did that a few years back, kept them in the fridge for half a year... then I made pesto (both pine nut and pistachio) and added the preserved lemon rinds to the pesto. It was the BEST pesto we've ever had. All three of us agreed. I made it again this year and I think I'll probably make it every year from here on out. But it tastes way better with home made preserved lemons, the store bought ones have a less fresh flavor.
I'm always so jealous when I hear about people with citrus trees (or avocado trees, or mango trees) in their yards. We do have cherries and (state-appropriate) blueberries, but they are each ripe for about a week, and we don't get THAT much. We don't get can-them quantities. More like enjoy-on-your-oatmeal quantities. This is all to say: I spent the morning shoveling snow, am currently wearing a hat indoors, and I envy you your lemons.