Eating an Orange

 I ate an orange this afternoon.   That doesn't seem like big deal, but it was important for me.

I was able to go to work Wednesday and Thursday, and then to Thanksgiving dinner at Rik and Christy's.  But it sort of wore me out (still getting my stamina back from Covid).  It was near 80 for those two days; then we had a turn of weather and yesterday it didn't even make 50 and it was raining.  And I pretty much spent the entire day on the couch, reading ("Wicked" - don't bother) and napping.  Today it was still chilly, but bright and clear, and I at least got up to do things like vacuum and laundry.  This afternoon I thought I would attempt a brisk walk around the property.  As I rounded between the cottage and the barn, I had to stop at the orange tree that grows between the two.

It's sort of an embarrassment of riches sometimes - I have friends who live in small houses or apartments.  Me - all this land, and a cottage in addition to my house.  The cottage is on the far end of the property, on the other side of the barn.  And I haven't been down that far in three weeks (first I was gone on my trip, then while I was dealing with the Covid I would go as far as the barn to get the chicken food, but not past it as far as the cottage.)

Well, in those intervening three weeks, the oranges have started to ripen - and there's a shocking number of them.

It's hard to notice them while they're the same color of the leaves, so I didn't realize how many were there.

I can't remember how many years ago we planted that little tree.  It didn't bear for a couple of years, and then we would get a few oranges from it.  It was a sort of celebration when one would ripen.

And I remember it too well.  Bob and I usually took a few turns around the property after breakfast.   When we would round the corner to see the orange tree, and deem that The Moment Was Right, Bob would ceremoniously pick the fruit.  He would rub it, hold it up to admire it, cup it in his hands to inhale the fragrance.  It just made him so happy to pick an orange from his own tree.  Finally, we would resume our walk, with him peeling the orange and sharing segments with me.

He was like that in so many ways - taking vital pleasure in the small gifts of life.

The first year - 2020 - I tried.  I was taking my walk, I picked an orange, started to peel it, and then fell to my knees and sobbed.  I never ate any of them - I eventually picked the few that were there, and cut them up and cooked them down for marmalade.

The same thing happened in 2021 - they got picked and cooked.  In 2022 we had a hard freeze that ruined the crop and almost killed the tree.  It survived, but did not bear fruit in 2023.

Today, it was loaded, and they're coming ripe.  I looked through and found one that was ready.  I held it, and sniffed it, and finally peeled it and ate the sweet juicy fruit while I walked, spitting seeds.  And I'm going to do it again.  Some of them will become preserves (because I like using them in cooking), but I'm going to eat a sweet, freshly picked orange daily while they last.   And remember him.