It was not quite dawn on December 11th, 2025, too early to be awake. I turned over under a weight of covers and willed myself back to sleep where a dream came and I saw my brother, middle-aged and able bodied, getting ready to get on a plane with a group of others. I rummaged through my pockets and found three $5 bills which I gave to him asking him to bring me a souvenir. He is impatient but smiles while taking the bills. I tell him if it’s not enough I will give him the rest when he comes back. He is gone. I wake up to my first year celebrating my brother’s birthday without my brother, born December 11th, 1949. I recently heard that grief is simply a knock at the door of memory and with that idea I offer this memory of my brother and I in our early teens.
summer plums
some summer evenings
my brother and I
were sent out to collect
fallen santa rosa plums
from our wide trunk
backyard trees
separating the moldy
drunken fly filled fruit
and worm eaten carcasses
from the intact gems
that would burst open
freckled crimson coats revealing
pale yellow flesh at the first bite
their syrup coating our fingers
as we picked them
sticky sap lingering in the warm air
the scent of ripeness
filling our noses
painting our skin
our mouths pulp full
of laughter treacle
curling around our tongues
its thickness slowly trickling
down our throats
some dusks we would
squat and eat
at the foot of the tree
two paper bags propped up
one for the plums to be saved
the other for the large pits
we had sucked dry
and of course
the rotten plums
one year there were so many plums
that we couldn’t keep up
despite overflowing bags of fruit
given out to neighbors and friends
despite jams cooked
and quick rise plum bread baked
and pounds and pounds devoured
so finally in homage to the bumper crop
my father and his best friend
a doctor in pharmacology
with access to a magician’s shop
of vials and tubing
created a still in our basement
and took all the plums my
brother and I had retrieved
to turn their thin juices into wine
but on an evening
that my parents spent out
my brother fell asleep
and forgot to check and adjust
the thermostat
causing the syrup to reduce and age
too quickly filling the house
with the scent of fermented
plum brandy
that we were never allowed to sample
although the adults waxed poetic
lines about the golden ambrosia
filling their glasses with California summer
homemade santa rosa plum brandy
devorah major -December 2025
You look so happy in the photo with David. I’m sure you miss him very much. May his soul rest in peace. His warm and protective spirit will always be with you.
Thank you. I miss him but the memories and photos keep me smiling.
Wow…nice treasured memories of your summer days.
Yes, and I hadn’t thought about that one in a while. It’s funny the way we tuck memories away and then they popout at unexpected times.
Vividly could see the two of you gathering and eating those delicious plums. What joy, what a sense of accomplishment, and what a sensation to taste this precious fruit. Another opportunity to be close through a simple experience. love & peace Josie
It is funny how we tuck memories away and how they emerge at odd times with such clarity and detail.
Ohh Devorah – I wish I could taste that sumptuous plum brandy – you describe it so enticingly and your poetry flows effortlessly – thank you for sharing your love for your brother and the sweet plum memories!
You are very welcome, but I have yet to actually taste plum brandy I only remember how my parents and friends went on about it. We smelled it though. LOL
Extraordinarily evocative – it felt like I was a fruit fly buzzing around this evocation – gorgeous writing as ever. I love the idea that grief is simply a knock at the door of memory… Thank you for the beautiful work you do.
Thank you for your kind comments.
So, so lovely. Those memories with your beloved brother is everlasting. Thank you for this gift today.
Thank you! You are very welcome.
Dear Devorah,
Thanks for sharing this memory of David. I could imagine the smell of those plums and of Reggie and Helen enjoying the brandy.
Thank you for reading and remembering my parents.
I love plum brandy!!
I still have never tasted plum brandy. 🙁