To Share a Pear with an Ant

Yellow ripe and juicy, the pears hung plump on the tree last week. Adjusting my step ladder to keep balance, I climbed up to the very top and greeted the tree. I smiled at her bark, and fancied the matching pear shape made by the outer branches. With gratitude and curiosity, I examined her drying leaves. Though she lived on my property (rather, the land we both share), I hadn't really met her before because she hadn't fruited for several years due to lack of rain. 

As I filled my bag with sweet, fresh fruit, I realized some of the pears were past ripe. I decided I wouldn't waste any pears, and that the half ripe and half rotten ones would get a quick munch by me on their ripe side, and the soft mush would be tossed into the neighbor’s field. The good ones went into my bag for kitchen storage. I was feeling pleased by the taste, and by my hard work for my family. 

Then I came across a pear that had a hole in it, and as I peered inside, I could see a giant black ant crawling around its sugar cave. Dare I take a bite out of the other side? How deep is its cave?

What if my teeth sink into the ant zone? Ewww!

I took a shallow nibble, carefully inspecting the thickness of pear. I peered back into the hole, trying to figure out how far back toward the core it ran. Then I contemplated. What is it like to share this pear with an ant? The ant was here first, the ant has a right to food. I could share.

The more intriguing question was:

Why had I never shared a pear with an ant before? 

Furthermore, do ants harbor any kind of sickness or bring in harmful bacteria that could infect me if I kept eating the pear?

Why do I not know the answer to this?

Because most of my life, I’ve eaten pears from the store that other people have deemed pure and safe. The agricultural industrial complex guarantees us mono crops protected by pesticides that alleviate our mental worries, and also keep us estranged from the way life has really lived in an interconnected may web of belonging. And sharing. 

We've lost tradition, knowledge and intimacy in the general population. I nibbled more. I was getting intimate with the ant and the pear. It felt good and right, so I took another bite. Me and this ant both loved the pair. And maybe the pear tree loved us both back too.  

• You don't have to eat a pear with an ant in it, to get intimate with nature. You can hang outside at sunset and listen to the owls hoot. 

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  You could relinquish the entire pair to the ant, as a blessing to its incredible home. Maybe you'd enjoy watching it carve and build for a few minutes. 

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  You could find a pear hole and taking a knife, carefully cut off that side, thus sharing the pear with the ant, without your lips getting anywhere near it. :)

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  You could enjoy intimacy with other fruit, plants, or animal foods. Check out Gary Snyder's poem below.

Lately I've been working on conflicts and collaboration in human relationships. Our food systems seem to mirror our disjointed human communications that get wonky through distance, tech, and chaotic daily life events. We are so distanced from the person answering our customer service call on the other side of the world, and the once-met acquaintance we’re trying to organize a program with. We are so distanced from most of our food’s original context, where most of the time we don't even know the field a vegetable on our table came from, nevertheless their vegetable parents (seeds).

Until we eat the community we’re a part of, we lack the inter-species intimacy we were made for.  

I’m not sure how to describe my heart’s relationship to a marigold flower I saw sprout this year from seeds that came from the marigolds in my garden last year. It’s like seeing your best friend have a child who grows up and births a baby. “I know you in this life cycle way…” 

We can change our sense of separation, estrangement, and loneliness, by getting outside and interacting and building relationships with other species.  We can challenge ourselves to live present and perhaps bravely, whatever that is for each of us. To not get lost in the status quo of food alienation, but get invested in food intimacy. It doesn’t have to be your own garden. It could be a community garden or the farmers market, or a “local” section of your grocery store. Or intimacy of another kind with the earth. It won’t replace human-human intimacy. But it will make a difference in our sense of belonging. 

Also, we can entertain ourselves with some playfulness. We will know what it's like to feel fully alive. Aflame with mystery, curiosity, and the evolutionary unknown.  

🌷 I'D LOVE TO INCLUDE ANY OF YOUR QUESTIONS. PLEASE WRITE ME. :)

© Shannon Gorres, 2025. Written by a human, not AI or chatGPT. Please contact me to request permission before sharing. I will give you permission to share sections of it when you include "by Shannon Gorres, www.DivineNatureTherapy.com"