Lessons in loss from the Peach Tree

What could a peach tree and a squirrel possibly teach me about loss, chaos and control? I share 7 lessons that you can apply to your own life when faced with the unexpected

Execution of the plan began in 2021 when we cleared away a rotten shed to make way for a greenhouse. We were going to grow peaches in Sheffield. Observing the microclimate over the previous years told us that our sloping site was a frost pocket, so we’d need to be smart if we wanted peach juice running down our chins in the future. 

In 2022 we were lucky. We had blossom, which turned into fruits. The tree was young and struggled to bring the fruits to maturity. We didn’t water the tree enough which meant the peaches were small in number and size, but delicious. We were hooked. The leaves dropped early that year. We’d learnt a lesson in watering. 

The year after that we had blossom, but pollination was low because it’s an early flowering variety and hidden away in the greenhouse. We didn’t get any fruit but had learnt a lesson in pollination.

This year we were prepared. The blossom arrived in February and we were quick to get in with a small brush, hand-pollinating every flower. We kept the ground well-watered whilst the fruit set. It was successful. The fruit swelled. The leaves remained. Visitors to the plot could hardly believe we had a laden peach tree in Sheffield. Everything was perfect and we just needed to wait for the sun to ripen the fruit. Peach juice would be dripping down our chins in no time. 

In anticipation of our harvest, we counted the fruit. 27 peaches. Oh boy.

We went away for a few nights with friends. On our return we popped into the allotment to water things and ‘shop the plot’ (pick things for our fridge).

At first glance it looked like the fruit had ripened and dropped from the tree. There was some visible mould. No problem, we’re accustomed to eating around things like that. As we stepped into the greenhouse the scale of the dropped fruit became shockingly clear. At least two-thirds of the fruit was on the floor. We looked closer, and that’s when we could see that not only was the fruit mouldy, but there were teeth marks in almost every peach. Rotten, half-eaten fruit, a mix of over and under-ripe, filling with earwigs. Peaches eaten at their prime. Peaches ripped from the tree before they were ready. Each one a source of heartbreak. What the heck had happened? We’d only been away for 5 days. The door and vents were secure. We looked up and noticed the snapped branches leading up to the automatic opening windows in the roof. Surely not? 

The intoxicating smell of 27 ripening peaches must have been too much for the squirrel to resist. It crawled in through the self-opening window and gorged itself. We don’t know how long it was in there, but we now know that our plot neighbour had heard the kerfuffle and released a squirrel from the greenhouse. 

It was carnage. I lost my temper. I was furious. Angry at the creatures we share the plot with. Angry at the stupidity of the squirrel for pulling off the unripened fruit. Angry that it had seemingly taken a small bite out of every bit of fruit it could lay its hands on, creating waste in its wake. Angry at the lost hours of pollinating, watering, tying in and caring for the tree. Angry that we would have to wait ANOTHER YEAR until we had the opportunity for peach juice to drip down our chin.

The anger then fizzed out from the greenhouse and into the wider allotment. I became annoyed at the overgrown paths, the branches pulling on my dress, the bricks that I tripped over, the pigeons gloating in the Oak tree, the slugs eating the dahlias, the mice eating the tayberries, the weeds, so many weeds. Everything was work and our work was seemingly fruitless. What was the point? I kept fizzing. I was feeding the fizz with more things to be angry at.   

We surveyed the tree, there were 7 peaches left. We wrapped them in layers of netting to protect them from any more hungry squirrels. We took the automatic vents off the windows to stop them from entering. We gathered up the peaches, and brought them home to see if anything could be salvaged. 

As a still life painter, the idea struck me that I could capture the peaches in a future painting. I arranged them in a bowl to be photographed exactly as they are. I felt excited as I discovered the silver lining, finding inspiration in being able to capture the reality of loss and the lifecycle of nature in a future painting. It would be a beautiful challenge to paint the textures and colours of the mould with the oozing flesh and fuzzy skins. I found peace with the idea of celebrating their existence in an everlasting painting. A theme that runs throughout my work. 

We returned to the plot the following week and checked on the ripening peaches. The flesh gave way with a gentle squeeze through the netting, they were ready. We tentatively unwrapped the protected peaches and gasped as we revealed mouldy skins. The netting had prevented the airflow that keeps the fruit healthy, we’d smothered them.

Amongst the fruits, we found some that were salvageable, and sliced them up to share amongst friends. We smiled as we sat around the picnic table, and ‘cheers-ed’ the peach slices, with a tiny dribble of juice dripping down our chins. 

Some weeks have passed now since my heartbreak, and I’ve reflected on what the peach tree has taught me. I’d like to share the lessons below;

• The slower the feedback loop, the more pain that’s felt with a ‘fail’ - There’s nothing I can do to speed up the lifecycle of a peach tree. It’s always going to take a year. But are there parts of my life where I’m delaying or artificially lengthening the feedback loop? What could I do instead to start small, test and learn? The quicker you can get the feedback of what doesn’t work, the better

• Learning your lessons - There’s a saying that failing to learn is the only failure from failing (or something like that). The previous years had taught me to control the variables I could; pollination, watering, tying in branches. Failing to learn from mistakes only increases the likelihood of them happening again in the future. There’s a need to notice, reflect and ground the lessons learnt as you go

• There will always be agents of chaos - I don’t think anything suits the name ‘agent of chaos’ more than a squirrel. There was no amount of planning or imagining that would have led us to defend against a squirrel jumping through our roof windows. It’s simply one of those unexpected things. A painful thing, but ‘one of those things’ nonetheless. I can now do what I want with that information in future seasons  

• Gripping tighter created more losses - Over-protecting the fruit with the layers of netting ironically meant we lost additional fruit by our own hands. We could have stopped when we took the vents off, but we decided to ‘belt and braces’ it. We were so focused on keeping the squirrels off our fruit, we forgot to consider that that the fruit still needed to breathe to remain healthy

• Count your blessings - We still managed to harvest more peaches than we’ve harvested before, but we were comparing them to the total amount we’d counted before they’d ripened. This meant that the overriding feeling was one of loss, rather than bounty. How often does the focus on loss steal the joy from the things that you do have in your life? 

• Sharing the abundance - The focus on loss also made it difficult to share the abundance with others. Of course, things are always better when shared with friends, but a part of me wanted to tuck into a whole peach myself because I was so focused on the 20 I didn’t get to pick. Sharing with others meant the joy and celebration of the meagre harvest was multiplied. No matter how little you have, it is always worth sharing it with someone else

• Find the beauty - The silver lining was being able to document the peaches to paint in the future. It’s unexpected, but there was something there to inspire other parts of my life. There’s something in the unexpected transformation or transference from one thing to another, but it’s up to you to find what that opportunity could be

What else can you see that’s a lesson here? What would you be willing to sacrifice to learn some valuable life lessons?