I’ve always been entranced by the idea of growing your own fruit. Maybe it’s from growing up with gardens that supplied either herbs, a few undersized tomatoes, or large leafy greens that everyone admired before quietly transferring them to the compost bin. But fruit! It’s like growing your own dessert, and since moving out west, the idea of growing your own citrus has been enchanting. Finally, after three trees have shown promise before withering and dying, a fourth tree has been prolific in its production of oranges. Even though it’s a dwarf orange (the tree is a dwarf, the oranges are full-sized), the branches are weighed down to the ground with fruit. This past weekend Child Harbat picked a pair and I yanked off another half-dozen just to free the branches from some of their burden. What to do with all this citrus? Make orange juice!
CH worked the first two then relented as I juiced the rest. Juicing by hand is hard work but rewarding, right Lance? Anyhoo, we ended up with two glasses full of fresh-squeezed orange juice and CH took the first big mouthful.
CH: “Good!” [long pause] “And spicy!”
Me: “Really?” [taking a sip] “Wow, that’s tart!”
I guess some weren’t quite ripe, so it was like half lemon/half orange. But the allure of fresh juice was enough that CH pushed through and drank the whole glass. I guess when you’re committed to juicing it takes a lot to turn you away. Right Lance?
Writer, architect, father, husband.
Those oranges look delicious. It’s 25 degrees here. Hooray for winter.
Is this the IN-famous El Guappo?