Attila the Hun at Chalons. The Tet Offensive. The Battle of Bunker Hill. And, being waged right now in our very own backyard ... the Battle of the Loquats.

We have three beautiful loquats, fruit trees indigenous to southeastern China. They're firmly rooted and exceedingly happy in a raised brick planter that forms one edge of the patio. In late spring/early summer, on those too few picture perfect Georgia evenings, we gather around the fountain, and we eat the fruit right off the branches of the trees. This year, I've been fantasizing about loquat martinis before dinner ... or loquat milkshakes after. In the midst of one of my reveries, Marian - who has been a machine in the yard of late - announced that she would be severely pruning the loquats. That sound you just heard? That was Marian popping the thought bubble over my head.

I: "What?! Pruning the loquats?!"

She: "They look terrible."

I: "But the fruit is set."

She: "They look terrible."

I: "But the fruit is set."

This, of course, is the abbreviated version of our first sortie. I left out a few of the more colorful missiles that were launched.

Every day, I peer out of the window to ensure that I haven't lost ground. And, I will the fruit to ripen quickly lest we lose our foothold. I know Marian is peering out of another window, pruning shears in hand, and like William the Conquerer, is planning my defeat.