I don’t know how or why it happened, but the trees in my orange grove are all still standing. Upright and all (NB: they’re right in what was the path of Hurricane Charley). In the next county (nine-tenths of a mile away — we measured it ourselves) the orange trees are all growing in — er, horizontal fashion right now.
Luck. Luck comes when you don’t need it, I think. Did I need it? Perhaps. Oranges not number one on my hit parade now.
Why in bleeding hell did my father buy an orange grove? It’s a good grove, managed by capable people. It brings in the assumed profit. So: why in bleeding hell did my father buy an orange grove? I may never know why, until I meet him again in the whatever-comes-after this.
On our way there, Buck asked, “Do you think your mother ever came here to visit the grove?”
I stared at him, meaningfully.
“Oh,” he said. “Nevermind.” We stopped at a roadside store, and I bought 2 beers.
Some dinner. Much wine. Some port (Sandeman brand).
And here I am online.
white pebble 