Well, we bought a farm and suddenly we’re accidental farmers. Oh, not in any meaningful way. Our lone pear tree has produced a bumper crop of sweet, delicious, beautiful pears, and I’m as proud as if I’d cultivated a field and put in crops. In fact, that tree has been here for 20+ years. I had nothing to do with any of it, but I smile a little in my heart every time I look out across the yard and see its branches dripping with fruit.

Back in the summer, I saw the little pears forming, and I thought, “Aw, look how cute!” - completely oblivious to the fact that little pears become big ones, and eventually have to be harvested, lest they fall to the ground and rot, attracting a slew of bees and some other little stinging bug that looks like a yellow ladybug. A farmer I am not. (Was not.)

I’ve got no right, I know, to even think I can share in the joy of farming with my one prolific, independent pear tree. But I do. That single silly tree has me holding my shoulders a little squarer, like I actually produced something (I didn’t). Oh, how a farmer must feel when he’s put his heart and soul into the land, and it rewards him, eventually - gloriously - with a bountiful harvest! His farmer heart must want to burst right out of his overalls.

Pretty pears from the first pickins.

Our pears are rumored to be of the Asian variety, but what that actually means is fuzzy, at best. I googled Asian Pears, and there are a few varieties that could be a match. The best match was the Comice Pear, and it’s pretty close. Here’s what I do know: they are extraordinarily sweet, can be eaten straight off the tree (if you’re willing to risk biting into a worm), and make a heck of a preserve.

Comice Pears, looking very much like those from our tree.

When I realized the tree was going to produce one million pears, I started to feel a sense of urgency. Both my parents said their mothers would have canned them, and that set a whole thing in motion. Yes! Can the pears! This prompted a scurry of activity: What was the easiest way to get the pears? How many pears did we need to harvest? What are we going to do with all these five-gallon buckets of pears? How many people can come over and get some pears? Oh, no! A LOT of pears are going to waste!

The pears started calling to me. It seemed absurd to leave perfectly good pears unharvested. In the end, we harvested far too many to eat, can, or give away. It’s a country kind of problem, l know. It is of the utmost importance that we share this bounty. I can’t explain it.

Above: Harvested pears await peeling and puttin’ up in the barn.

Now, in Louisiana, when you’re canning something, you call it “puttin’ up,” as in, “I’m puttin’ up pears today (or peas, or tomatoes, etc.).” You’re puttin’ them up for winter, when those things will be scarce. Well, I’ve been puttin’ up pears for about three weeks now. Peeling is the hardest part, and is best done in an assembly line. You need a chopper, to hack off stem and hind-end, a peeler or two, to shave off the skin, and a slicer to carve off the good parts and eliminate the funk. Fun fact: peeling pears makes your fingernails real dirty, and it takes forever for the stain to wash out.

There was a learning curve on the process, I’ll admit. I’ve got it perfected at this stage, but it was slow going for a bit. The reward is in the final product, and maybe a little bit in how people react to it when they have a taste. I spiced my preserves with Autumn flavors; cinnamon, nutmeg, and allspice. I didn’t measure any of it, but it came out just right. People love it, and I love the rows of jars; evidence of my labor of love.

Above: The process, from picked to put-up.

Our intention, on moving to this little farm, was to live simply. We intend to grow vegetables and maybe animals; certainly chickens, for the eggs and entertainment. We didn’t anticipate a ready-made crop of pears or the joy this little harvest would bring, but if this is farmette living, bring it on. I’ll be chasing the feeling of this first, tiny harvest for a long time.