I was putzing around our yard a couple of weeks ago when I noticed yet another undiscovered treasure hidden in plain sight: pear trees.

The previous owner of this place was a horticulturalist who had a penchant for trees. Do you know how that makes this tree person feel? It’s as though she planted these trees for me, for the day when I would live here, for the day when I would call this place home and all these trees would be for me alone to love.

I digress. What was I saying? Oh yes, the pear trees.

These pears are tiny; they can fit in the palm of my hand.

They are as hard as rocks, but that’s not unusual for unripened pears.

I’ve googled them, and they look like Anjou pears, but they aren’t as large as the grocery-store variety. My neighbor told me they are “canning” pears.

This burgeoning country girl kick-started her country-ness by identifying this confounding fruit as the Kieffer pear – a pear that must be cooked before eaten.

Now it’s time to learn what to do with them. I wish MawMaw were here.