We thought the pineapple tree gifted to my dear wife Karen by George Three for Mother’s Day would be a two-year affair.

Then she took it inside here in the Liverpool neighborhood of Galeville as the Central New York temperatures started to chill for October.

You know, Hawaii fruit and all.

The pineapple started to turn golden.

Ready for exploration.

Google told us that meant it was ripe.

Slice of anticipation.

George and my terrific daughter Elisabeth were coming to visit, so Karen took off the top, saving it so it could be planted in hopes of sprouting another tree.

Master chef.

Just as he did during our family reunion trip to Kona, George took the honors of slicing up the sweet fruit.

Yummy.

It was big enough to deliver one hunk to each of us.

Successful gift, indeed.