A neighbor in my old Seattle neighborhood was wheeling a rather unusual houseplant out of her garage one fine March morning. It was a small tree, about six feet in every direction, in a large, black, plastic tree-nursery pot. The pot was resting steady on a thick-wheeled movers’ cart, and as she steered it carefully to the side of her driveway I took a closer look. Dozens of what looked like ripe lemons decorated the tree, whose stately passage to outdoor freedom was brightly lit by early spring sunshine.
She noticed me admiring the spectacle.
