I’ve always wanted a lemon tree. We had one when I was a kid, until my mum went on one of her spontaneous garden rampages and pulled it out. As an adult, I’ve never lived in a property that was suitable to grow my own (we don’t even have so much as a balcony in our current apartment). So when I found out that the house my brother in law and his family just bought had not one, not two, but THREE lemon trees in the backyard, well, lets just say they’ll be fighting me for the bounty.
(This new garden also has lime and cumquat trees, and a rosemary bush that is so big it may as well be a tree. Lots of visits from Auntie Jackie once they finish their reno and move in)
As Gav is the default family landscaper, we’ve been over there a bit, plotting their improvements (which I’m pleased to say involve keeping the citrus trees). So while everyone else was distracted, I undertook a little snatch and grab operation.
…and then I had a bowl full of lemons, which we know means only one thing.
And then I had a bout of the lazies and got some meringue nests from the supermarket. Delicious laziness.