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A rare treat

The Tailor and I were talking today about holiday traditions. In his family, it’s standard fare to find an orange in one’s stocking on Christmas morning. He’s originally from Kansas, where the tradition hearkens back to the days when citrus fruit was an exotic luxury. I remember my grandmother telling me a similar story about her childhood Christmases—she grew up on a farm in Nova Scotia, and an orange in the 1920s Maritimes must have been about as singular as it would have been in, say, Laura Ingalls’s stocking.

If you mostly subsist on local, seasonal produce, those old tales mean a lot more than they would otherwise. After all, all the Florida oranges and Chilean strawberries in the supermarket don’t matter much if you choose not to partake of them. So today, when I cut into the huge, beautiful avocados Sarah and Jesse had brought with them from California when they came for Thanksgiving, I think I knew how Nana, and the Tailor’s ancestors, and Laura Ingalls must have felt all those years ago. Jesse bought them green, directly from the farmer, so they’d have time to ripen for us here. Sarah wrapped each fruit individually in paper, and packed them carefully in a tin. And then together they journeyed for two days to give them to us in person. I can’t think of a more precious gift than that.

We’re just finishing up our Christmas lists this weekend, and planning the final round of gift shopping. I know the Tailor will be expecting the annual orange in his stocking, just for tradition’s sake. So maybe I’ll ask Santa for an avocado in mine.