Instructions: If the United States had an endangered foods list, fresh apricots would surely be among the Top 10.

This once-beloved fruit could face commercial extinction within a generation, done in by suburban development and modern agricultural practices. Imagine, the fruit that Persians called eggs of the sun gone the way of the dodo.

If you greet this news with a big So what, youve clearly never bitten into a truly ripe apricot - juicy, dripping, musk-scented, with that sweet-tart tingle on the tongue. Theyre even better straight from the tree, still warmed by the sun.

But even here, in the valley that used to be the center of apricot production, that fresh flavor is getting harder to find.

I lucked into apricot heaven. The back yard of my childhood home in Los Angeles was separated from the property behind by a sun-bleached wooden fence, its boards shrunken with age. By early summer, the wild grasses in the unkempt yard had turned yellow and crisp, a sharp contrast to our yard, which had one tree each of fig, peach, avocado and Seville orange interspersed among several bananas.

Surviving in that untended plot was a tall, spreading old apricot tree. Never pruned, some of its dark, rough branches stretched into our yard. My sisters and I eagerly watched the fruit develop, from inedible pea green into brown-speckled, deep orange opulence.

With our best friends, Cookie and Karen, wed climb up and stand on the ledge of the rickety fence to pick what fruit we could from among the silvery green leaves. We couldnt jump down into the yard for more because, like Heras golden apples in Greek myth, this tree had its own fierce guardian - a German shepherd with alert ears and a no-fooling bark. Wed beat a retreat to the top of our quaint, free-standing garage and in the peace of that tar paper oasis, we sealed our friendship with bites of our succulent bounty.

When I first started looking in the mid-1980s to recover that childhood taste, I discovered the apricot world had changed a lot. I searched supermarkets. Sure, their fruit looked pretty, but it had an unbroken losing streak in taste and texture. Most farmers market apricots turn out to be big teasers, too.

I wasnt the only one to notice. Fresh apricots have been so uniformly cottony, mushy and tart that U.S. consumption now is way down. Overall production has dropped to half of its peak in the 1920s and 30s.

Part of the problem is that it has become far more difficult to find what Im looking for. Newer varieties bred for shelf life and high yields have displaced tastier but commercially vulnerable fruit. Growers say theyre responding to shoppers who want nice-looking fruit.

The gold standard for apricots is the blenheim, introduced into this country from England in the 19 th century. A shallow-rooted tree that thrives in a variety of soils, it produces fruit after four years and can be productively harvested up to 20 years. (Blenheims will be available in a couple of weeks at farmers markets.)

Santa Clara Valley was the center of Americas apricot universe, affectionately dubbed The Valley of Hearts Delight. Some might remember spring blossom tours, when tourists would come by plane, train, automobile and horseback to see and smell the frothy, fragrant blossoms on up to 8 million trees.

At its height, this was the nations fruit bowl, where hundreds of family farms grew a variety of fruit. By the late 1930s to 1940s, there were 7,000 small family and commercial fruit farms of from 10 to 50 acres, according to Sunnyvales historical society. About 20,000 acres of those farms were planted

In apricots. The valleys warm days and cool nights let apricots mature slowly, the key to their rich flavor and sweetness.

By 1999, the most recent year for which figures are available, there were 500 acres of apricots in Santa Clara County. Statewide, there were 19,000 acres of apricot orchards, concentrated in the San Joaquin Valley.

That wonderful weather and level land also made the Santa Clara valley a target for housing developers and the new high-tech industry that had been incubating here during World War II. The rising tide of people swept the orchards off to the hotter San Joaquin Valley.

There, the blenheims suffered, affected by pit burn - which happens when the pit heats up and scorches the inside of the fruit. Most growers switched to hardier, more productive varieties such as pattersons, tiltons and early-maturing castlebrites.

But the taste isnt the same. I recently bit into a katy. It was mildly sweet with an OK apricot taste, but the insides were gooey. Yuck!

Growers have tried to entice us with exotic apricot spinoffs, such as plumcots, which are half apricot, half plum; the even plummier pluot, which is an often request item at farmers markets; and exotic-sounding peacotums, a mix of apricot, peach and plum. But my taste buds arent having it.

The short-term solution may be to take matters into our own hands: Plant an apricot tree in your back yard. Get to know farmers market vendors who supply the good stuff. Many are willing to bring in even riper fruit for you. Be nice to your apricot-growing neighbors. Maybe, just maybe, well share.

I lucked out again when I got married 11 years ago. Theres an apricot tree hidden on my mother-in-laws property. Its more than 30 years old - ancient by apricot standards. Pale green lichen covers most of its black limbs. But its mid-June, and the trees fruit-laden branches soar above me, catching the sun.

Its almost time to go raiding.

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