Travis sat on the steps next to Zelda. I was in front of them, half the time looking over my shoulder to chat and half the time watching Billy run run run.
He reported his findings on gum base. Cost, which purveyor, amounts. Gum base, I thought to myself. Gum base. I thought about printmaking class and gum arabic. What was he planning to make?
Zelda explained before I asked. Travis makes his own beer. He also knows how to roast coffee. He recently made root beer. And now? Chewing gum. Zelda wasn't so sure. Gum base? It sounded like a kit, like something a novice, a gum fancier, would get, not for someone who really wanted to learn how.
But Travis thought it would be fun to play with. Plus, you really can't make it yourself, he pointed out.
Pause. At the very same moment his eyes and mine both landed on my street tree, my sweetgum, my Liquidambar styraciflua.
"You could," I point at it.
"We could tap Bridgett's tree!" Zelda exclaims.
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