Orange Groves and Pistachio Trees for Miles
My brother and I are on an interesting trip right now. The man we called "Grandpa" died recently and today is his funeral. We grew up in a particularly remote area of the San Joaquin Valley in California. Grapes of Wrath area. But we left in the early 1980s. Many of our friends have departed the valley for jobs elsewhere or have died. Our "Grandma Ruth" died in 2004. This could very well be the last trip. We both knew that and decided we needed to say proper goodbyes.
We drove in yesterday and just wandered the grounds of the parsonage where we grew up. We paused over all of the tombstones in the graveyard. We went into the parochial school where we spent our primary grades. And we walked into the Lutheran Church -- still kept unlocked -- and lingered at the organ Grandpa Paul played for decades. We remembered various services we'd been part of -- weddings, services with children's choir, etc. Then we drove around, through the orange groves, and near the town several miles away, shouting out memories.
The thing is that I have a horrible memory, but the sights and smells were so tangible that everything was rushing back. My brother asked if I remembered playing the game "Swinging Statues" on our front lawn and my response was just to cry. Of course I did! But only because he said it. In the parsonage, I remembered my brother and I trying to secretly watch "The Thornbirds" on a crappy black-and-white television with no antenna while my mom and sister watched in the other room -- we didn't understand the fuss -- it was so boring. At school, I remembered my first "reporting gig" -- when the principal made me run back and forth to the parsonage to relay details about President Reagan being shot. When the bells tolled at church that afternoon, it felt like a balm pouring over me.
The sound of the birds, the smell of the fruit, the feel of the soil. I am connected to these things in a way I'm not connected to any other place I've lived.
It made me wonder if this is how everyone feels about the place of their first memories or if this is more about a rural upbringing. What about for you?
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Jun '10
Re: Orange Groves and Pistachio Trees for Miles
For me, it's the smell of fresh potato lefse and buttered lutefisk. I never ate the lutefisk, as a rule, but the smell of it brings back good memories. Good memories, because I only ate the lefse.
Jan '11
Re: Orange Groves and Pistachio Trees for Miles
Yep. Been there, done that.
Nov '10
Re: Orange Groves and Pistachio Trees for Miles
Thank you for posting this, Ma'am. It is beautifully written and it calls to mind my grandparents' home about twenty miles from my residence, a mighty fortress of love, kindness, and security. There was always a warm welcome and a truly happy (won through many decades of hard work and prayer) place for our entire extended family. Of such memories are steady and worthy lives made, I believe.
May '11
Re: Orange Groves and Pistachio Trees for Miles
Home, that is what I call it, it is a smaller town in British Columbia Canada. I've not lived there for 30+ years and it has changed significantly, but the mountains and the lake are the same, and when I go into the mountains, I feel at peace. Now I live in the middle of a city of 12 million on the other side of the world, boy life can take you places you never imagined.
Great post, I'm sorry for your loss.
Domo
May '10
Re: Orange Groves and Pistachio Trees for Miles
My Dad grew up in Stockton, then moved to San Francisco with his family just before WWII. So, I have a deep sentimental attachment to the central valley and the San Francisco I remember as a kid, and the great state of California, from end to end.
I grew up in the southern California suburbs, and I can still call up all the sensual memories fresh: the heavy dry heat in the evenings with the folks in the backyard; the moist ocean fogs waiting for the schoolbus in the morning, and the rhythms of life day-to-day. I can see it all in my mind's eye, any moment I wish.
Oct '11
Re: Orange Groves and Pistachio Trees for Miles
Smells evoke the most powerful memories, somehow. I bought a house once because the scent in the backyard (dirt and decades' worth of rotting windfall apples, I think) brought back memories of childhood Fourth of July celebrations at my great aunts' house.
May '10
Re: Orange Groves and Pistachio Trees for Miles
Last month I took my two boys to see my deceased grandfather's farm at the north edge of the Missouri Ozarks. They took their time wandering over the 500 acres of hills and bottom land that used to produce a good bit of hay and supported a decent herd of cattle. I had difficulty not choking up when my oldest declared, "It's good to have some land!"
I don't know whether this is only a rural thing, but it really made me miss Grandma and Grandpa. My two cents: don't let it be your last trip, Mollie.
Sep '11
Re: Orange Groves and Pistachio Trees for Miles
I can relate to your feelings. I think it's combination of things. Was reading Psalm 139 this morning where it talks about our being formed and I think our memories of the first place we lived exudes this familiarity, which is unlike any place else. Also, having spend much of my life in CA, but not my early years, I appreciate what an imprint it -- with its astonishing natural beautyand sunshine -- has on my soul.
I enjoy reading you very much.
Dec '10
Re: Orange Groves and Pistachio Trees for Miles
My condolences on your loss. May your grandfather find peace, and may you and your family find healing.
Jan '11
Re: Orange Groves and Pistachio Trees for Miles
Whitewater Indiana, My Mom's Parents had a 40 acre farm that my cousin still lives on about a mile west of a town that had a general store a gas station and a barber shop when I was growing up. We lived north of NYC and my Dad commuted to a skyscraper on park avenue with in easy walking distance of Grand Central but every summer we spent most of August "on the farm" with my Grand Parents. We did all the farm stuff. my uncles raised dairy cows and pigs and sheep and even had a pony or horse. We worked every day just like our cousins including putting hay in a mow at 100 degrees under a tin roof. We went to the County fair with our cousins.and helped with their 4H livestock projects.
On Sunday we went to the Whitewater Methodist Church that my parents were married in and I was baptized there, 60 people about half of them my relatives almost all farmers. We sang "What a friend we have in Jesus" almost every Sunday. The town of 1 to 5 hundred produces Lowell Wicker and Ritchie Mullins. I will always be a Hoosier.
Jan '11
Re: Orange Groves and Pistachio Trees for Miles
Whitewater Indiana, My Mom's Parents had a 40 acre farm that my cousin still lives on about a mile west of a town that had a general store a gas station and a barber shop when I was growing up. We lived north of NYC and my Dad commuted to a skyscraper on park avenue with in easy walking distance of Grand Central but every summer we spent most of August "on the farm" with my Grand Parents. We did all the farm stuff. my uncles raised dairy cows and pigs and sheep and even had a pony or horse. We worked every day just like our cousins including putting hay in a mow at 100 degrees under a tin roof. We went to the County fair with our cousins.and helped with their 4H livestock projects.
On Sunday we went to the Whitewater Methodist Church that my parents were married in and I was baptized there, 60 people about half of them my relatives almost all farmers. We sang "What a friend we have in Jesus" almost every Sunday. The town of 1 to 5 hundred produces Lowell Wicker and Ritchie Mullins. I will always be a Hoosier.