While picking through a big box of red pears the other day, being critical of bruises and dents, all of the sudden I was back at my grandparents' yard, standing under a pear tree with my grandfather. The ground was littered with fallen pears, which I carefully stepped around as I tried to find a nice pear in the tree. My grandpa picked up one of the pears from the ground, pulled out his knife and cut away the damaged spots. He said those ones were more ripe and would taste better, despite the bruises. I was skeptical, and picky, but I tried one. He was right. It was sweet and juicy and tasted like Indian Summer.
Grandpa grew up in a time when you couldn't afford to be picky. And it was in his nature not to waste things. I was very spoiled growing up in that I could be picky, and often was. But I also knew the value of a dollar and used to clip coupons for my mom (who still doesn't use coupons). And somewhere in adulthood I began to feel very guilty about wasting "good" food and making a conscious effort not to. Just because something is a little bruised or mushy doesn't mean it still can't be useful.
But back to the pears. I feel like there is a bigger metaphor in there. How many times have I overlooked something or someone because it was damaged? What am I missing out on by being picky? I have a soft spot for clearance plants, just can't stand to think of them being tossed in the trash because they are a little wilted or scrawny. So I find them a home in my garden and most of the time they thrive. What else should I be giving a second look? How much better could the world be if everyone took a second look at a bruised pear, a wilted flower, a person who is in shabby clothes? There is so much untapped worth out there.
