Funny how things happen. Last night, I picked a loquat from my neighbor's tree that hangs over the fence for my four-year-old son, Moss—who, being a fruitaholic, loved it. This morning, when I went back to the tree to snap a picture to write a blog about loquats, Moss wanted another one but I couldn't reach it. (Feet stomping ensued.) And now I go to the Times to see that Kim Severson has written an article ("Neighbor, Can You Spare a Plum?") about the growing movement of urban fruit foragers. It starts like this: "The loquats were ripe and just begging to be picked." She doesn't mention a temper tantrum though.