Bee Tree Farm

In college I did a summer class in southwestern France where we explored cave paintings in between picnics of prosciutto, olives, cheese, and wine.  I learned a lot.  Mostly I learned that early humans loved to tell stories along rock walls but also that food eaten within a 200 mile radius of where it was created is, really, the best way to eat.  But what I also learned on that trip (actually – on any trip outside of Texas) is that the cowboy/tumbleweed/cactus stereotype of Texas crosses oceans. Anyone I met who discovered I was a Texan would immediately turn all bright eyed and goofy, “Oh mon dieu!  Vous avez les cactus et les cowboys, non?” they’d ask excitedly, hoping for a story about the fact that – in Texas – our primary mode of transport is horse.  I’d usually give a weak smile, “Non.  Je n’ai pas les cactus, cowboys, ou les chevaux (horses).”  They’d look disappointed, like I was an anomaly and they had the sad misfortune of encountering the singular Texan who wasn’t really a Texan at all.  But where I grew up, just north of Austin, we really didn’t have those things – at least not in enough abundance for me to notice.  In fact I would get pretty irritated with the question.  Where did people get these ideas from, anyway?  Stereotypes, geez!

Then we moved to the country, a plot of land divided equally between forest and, well, cactus.  Cactus and mesquite trees.  Land that hadn’t been used for anything beyond trash dumping for years.  Among the trash we found fresh piles of horse manure and soon learned that neighbors used the property to ride their horses.  I felt sheepish; thought of the many times I firmly denied the existence of these ridiculous Texas stereotypes, now standing in the midst of cactus, surrounded by evidence of horses that were ridden over by my cowboy neighbors.  Oh well.

Sine then, I’ve learned to embrace the stereotypes.  Hell, I think the cactus are pretty, especially in late summer when the cactus pears that grow off every paddle start to turn a blushed shade of ruby, the color slowly creeps over the pear until the entire little jewel is a shiny magenta.  They look inviting and plump but, like the cactus themselves, are encased in thorns.  For years, I’ve watched them slowly ripen then rot, and each season feels like a missed opportunity.  Couldn’t we do something magical with these gems?  Wasn’t this the epitome of local eating?  With a color that deep and rich, I was positive they were delicious.  So last week I lured my mom and sister out for an afternoon of cactus pear collection and processing.  My sister Jesse already collected some here years ago, and I faintly remember her saying the pears weren’t “worth it” to process, but figured it was only because she went through the whole ordeal herself.  Surely as a group it would be not only FUN but the results would be WORTH IT.

Fast forward several hours into a late Friday afternoon.  We began the 100* day by traversing the entire pasture with tongs and a metal pot to collect the biggest, plumpest pears we could find, stupidly stepping through snake condominiums to grab them.  Back in the house, each pear needed to be painstakingly de-thorned, best done by burning every thorn off the pear over an open flame.  Once thorns were removed, we all grabbed a pile and skinned each and every one.  Then cut them in half.  Then removed the seeds.  Pick, burn, peel, cut, scoop.  Sounds easy when written out this way but the entire process took hours.  Thank god mom brought some beer.  Half the batch was turned into a chili chutney and the other half made as marmalade with lemons.  The results: pretty ok.  I think the flavor of cactus pear is reminiscent of cranberries.  And, while I’m an enormous fan of collecting and eating wild food, eating what grows outside the front door, eating local and all that – the benefits of cactus pears do not outweigh the overwhelming drawbacks.  Some wild things are meant to stay wild and from here forward I will happily let each cactus pear season pass.  Will gladly watch the fruits ripen and wither from a distance.  Will grab a bag of cranberries from the store instead if I’m craving something “reminiscent of cranberries.”  Because, let’s be honest, life’s just too short for eating cactus pears.