Happy National Apricot Day!

Lately, serendipity is rampant in my life.  Like last night when I learned that January 9th is National Apricot Day.  

That I should find this out this week, last night January 8th - is priceless.  It's as if a little tug moved me to pick up my copy of Practically Useless Information, Food & Drink, by Norman Kolpas.  A book I hadn't picked up in maybe two, maybe three years.  A book that was still under other books, unshelved, since my move. 

Talk about serendipity.  Not only is the apricot probably my most favorite fruit, earlier this week, and completely unaware of the significance of January 9th, I pulled out a poem, an ode if you will, I'd written to this delicious little cultivar about two years ago.  

I'd been thinking about apricots lately.  I think it has something to do with the fact that it's been so cold in my house, and apricots represent everything summer is for me, summer's short lived gift - warm, sweet juicy little sun sponges. If summer had a mascot, it would be the apricot.  

I knew I had this poem somewhere in my files, so I pulled it out as my submission for my poetry workshop this weekend.  Who knew?   

For me, the apricot is a world unto itself.  It's a sensual fruit, a fun, smack dab in the middle of summer fruit - a fruit small and sweet and to the point.  A fruit that ages well.  It's a holder of Mediterranean mystery and sensuality.  But apricots are also poetic, known by more evocative names like Gluthearly, Goldcot, Goldrich, Goldstrike, Haroblush, Harogem, Rival, Velvaglo, Vivagold - names that roll off the tongue like like it's juices.  

Wow.  Congress, or the bloody president, actually went took the time and effort to declare this little compact warrior of a fruit worthy of it own national day of recognition.  

Well, here, here!   

So, in honor of this day, I'm sharing this poem - my homage to apricots.  

Stone Fruit

Ephemeral seasons, 

transient beauty;

You leave me wanting more.  

Oh, early bloomer! 

Your fruit survives early frosts

only to be dried.   

Parched and wrinkled, 

you are sweeter now than in youth.

All this serendipity only adds to the allure of the apricot for me - I think me and apricots are pretty connected.  I only wish I had learned about this on a Wednesday. 

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