Fruit Basket

A sequel to ‘In a stew’ In a stew | ABCtales

It’s Oliver onion’s second allotment meeting as chair and already it’s proving to be as sticky as the last one. This evening’s bone of contention (and they’re only just got through the Minutes and Item’s Arising) is the new greenhouse which has well and truly upset the applecart in terms of the previous good relationship between the veggies and the fruit. The tomatoes expected full occupation of the rather grand structure, but the fruits, especially the peaches and the melons, have other ideas. Yes, yes, I appreciate that everyone knows that technically tomatoes are fruit too but they self-identify as vegetables which must of course be respected.

Anyway, back to the argument.

‘Bloomin self-entitled tomatoes’, mumbles Osaf orange, ‘always acting as if life is a bowl of cherries just for them’.

‘Yeah, but full of pips for the rest of us’, adds Aaron a little more loudly. Aaron isn’t a bad apple by any means, but he likes a bit of stir.

‘What a lemon’, whispers Sasha strawberry to her friend Ruby red current and the cherry tree in the corner of the allotment shakes so much that those sitting underneath are showered with pink blossom.

Oliver is sweating again, all his layers feeling uncomfortably damp, as the oranges, apples and pears side with the peaches and melons (the berries being much less partisan), and the tomatoes, feeling increasingly isolated, grow angrier and angrier. If they get any redder additives will be suspected and the usual route to salad, sauce and soup will be completely off the table.

‘Come on guys’, he tries ‘there must be a way out of this, surely?’

But nobody is listening to him. Looking around desperately for some help Oliver catches one of the eyes of Patrick potato who he was up against for the job of allotment chair. They’ll both be in hot water soon enough without all this hassle and Oliver feels sure that on reflection Patrick holds no sour grapes and is more than happy to have lost the vote. A plum assignment IT IS NOT. Patrick’s mother Petunia, a wise and well respected root, has left for pastures, well more accurately palates, new but Patrick is a chip of the old block and he tries hard to come to Oliver’s rescue.

So full are they of indignation though, the fruits and the tomatoes don’t give a fig. ‘Bananas, absolutely bananas, the lot of them’, thinks Patrick, giving up.

Seeing the need for action and pulling himself up to his full height Ronnie rhubarb clears his throat, takes a deep breath and whistles loudly.  

‘Right, just stop it, stop it now’, says Ronnie commandingly. Rhubarb are generally a shy lot, hiding most of the time, as they do, under their leaves, so this intervention shocks everyone into silence.  ‘Enough’, Ronnie continues. ‘Last month it was the toms and the turnips and now it’s the toms and the fruit.’ ‘Yes, yes I know’, he says in exasperation as, one particularly pedantic beetroot opens their mouth to correct the tomato classification.

Clearing his throat Ronnie tries again. ‘There must be a solution going forward’, he begins, ‘so why don’t we form a few breakout groups, discuss the options and bring our ideas back to the bedding patch’. Ronnie had known the copy of ‘How to Speak Management’ that the human allotment worker had left in the shed would come in handy sooner or later. And for a while Ronnie’s suggestion seems to work with small clusters of fruit and veg chatting, mostly, amicably. The discussion is largely about other things, such as growing hopes for the season and the merits of organic fertilizer, rather than who should have the rights to the greenhouse, but still, at least things seem a bit less fraught now.  

A few minutes on and Sasha, clearly the nominated spokesberry for her group, speaks out. ‘The thing is…’, and although her voice is quiet everyone stops to listen, so luscious looking a fruit is Sasha (only a dollopp of cream could make her more beautiful). ‘The thing is, couldn’t the peaches, the melons and the tomatoes just share the greenhouse?’ Seeing a few nods and encouraging smiles she continues; ‘there’s actually quite a bit of space and wouldn’t the cocktail of colour be glorious if there was joint occupation.’

Monica melon and Peggy peach smile at each other. ‘That’s sweet Sasha’, says Monica, ‘and so simple and sensible an idea, thank you.’

Looking towards the tomatoes Oliver sees that Tallulah, Tarquin and the rest look happy enough too. Sighing with relief he moves on at last to the second main agenda item bracing himself for another lively discussion, this time about the status of the low hanging fruit.

***

NB: I know I’ve mixed the seasons up again. Please forgive me.