With nothing much to do that afternoon, I took a walk up a nearby hill.
It is neither high nor steep. From the foot of the hill to about halfway up, the slopes have been turned into fields and orchards. Above that, all the way to the top, the land gives way to pines, cypresses, and a tangle of wild trees and undergrowth.
Following the winding mountain road upward, I was surrounded by fruit trees heavy with promise: apricot, apple, peach, hawthorn, pear, and walnut. At this time of year, most of the melons and tree fruit are still in their infancy, more for looking at than eating. The apricots alone were already full and plump—green ones, pale ones, yellow ones. Some hung in clusters of three or five, while others stood alone high on the branches. Looking up from beneath the trees, with sunlight filtering through the leaves and fruit, the whole scene felt as lively and bright as a schoolyard during recess.
A lot of the plots looked overrun with weeds, as if no one had been tending them. Along the roadside, many ripe apricots had already fallen and been crushed into the dirt by passing wheels and feet. It was hard not to feel that such waste was a pity. But apricots are not easy to store, and there is only so much people can eat, so farmers often do not treat them as a priority crop. A woman harvesting near the foot of the hill put it plainly: “Nobody comes to buy these. We can only sell them ourselves one by one. And how much can that really bring in?”
Farther up, around the middle of the hill, I came across two elderly people picking fruit as well. In conversation, I learned that both were already well into their seventies. Their children had long since grown up, started families, and gone to work in other places. The old couple still farm the land, and they also set up a small street stall selling grilled sausages and snacks to earn a little extra spending money.
The apricots from their trees are picked by hand every year, and someone comes to collect them and ship them out of town. That was different from what I had heard and seen elsewhere that day. Perhaps it comes down to the variety of apricot, or simply the taste.