A simple thing can take you miles and years away on your own travels. On a foggy, Christmas Eve morning a package of oranges came from Florida friends Karen and Gary. I immediately peeled open one of the beautiful navels. The peeling alone with the smells and textures took me back to growing up with an orange grove in the back yard.
A sign out front said “Fruit for Sale.” When someone would come down the driveway, I’d tell the price of a peck, half bushel or full bushel of what was ripe—tangelos, tangerines, temples, hamlins, grapefruit, lemons—or the most expensive—navels. If they weren’t sure, I’d pick and peel one for a taste. Then I’d get the ladder, climb up for the fruit, and make a sale.
Peeling the fruit this morning brought me back to grass between my toes, dragonflies fleeing from birds in pursuit, and Florida sunshine.
