Life for my family back in 1987 was quite different than it is for us in 2012. Back then our children still fit in three car seats all lined up in the back seat as we drove on down to Grandpa’s and Grandma’s house for Christmas break. We called their house the big House as the one we lived in could easily fit inside of it. Visits there always gave me good afternoon times to nap as my children would be kept busy rattling their grandparent’s noggin. And when that entertainment was finished sea shells, endless waves and sky ocean blue horizons awaited our footfalls just three blocks away .
My dad was a ferocious grower of anything that would, and I don’t mean like toe fungus and stuff. He grew flowers or anything eatable. Heck, he would cultivate a fence post if enough soil built up on the top of it. So it was no wonder their retirement home was surrounded by single and double hibiscus of many colors, that Jasmine filled hedges lined the front windows while a Norfolk pine, a royal palm as well as a gigantic magnolia highlighted the circular front driveway. But I loved their backyard the most. Here my mom had added her interest in the exotic by planting numerous Hawaiian flowering plants placed so they skirted the perimeter of the backyard. The middle of the backyard featured a vegetable garden and no less than four different kinds of orange trees. In fact, these oranges had the habit of tasting so good you could almost say we drove four hours down to my parent’s sub-tropical home just to eat those delicious fresh fruits! It was during one of these daily orange picking frenzies that I learned an important lesson in life.
It was way too early in the morning when my two walkers and one hip rider made it clear it was time to pick more oranges!
“But what about the ten you all ate yesterday?” I foolishly asked.
Out to the lawn we ran with a ladder, we opened our orange sacks in hopes of getting fatter. Away to the backyard we flew like a flash, I even forgot diapers we were in such a dash. I as the guardian and the children all a glow, gave us all a luster of moonlight reflecting off snow.When what to my blood-shot eyes should appear, but so many ripe oranges I knew we had nothing to fear.
For now the captions are not posting so: Hey who can spot the oranges? Kelly waits to pick as mom watches by.
It was then I realized this was a wonderful time and a wonderful gift from my dad; I was so thankful he’d planted these trees as he had. I stepped back and took in the scene. My children were learning where food comes from and being connected to the earth without even know this teaching was going on. I couldn’t thank my dad enough. It was right there and then that I made a promise to myself.
again another caption: Even off season the orange trees drew our attention. Here Drew plays, I seem to be sawing dead branches and Mom watches on.
I promised myself I’d grow oranges just as my father did so my children’s children could have this same learning experience. And I looked forward to growing enough oranges to eat that my grandchildren would also be at risk of inadvertently turning into an orange, just as I told my children was the case back then. I had no idea how much this promise would mean to me later on.
I’m lucky I made this promise to myself, though in truth, I just barely kept it. I lived in Micanopy for many years, and my friend Greg mentioned I should plant some orange trees, but I didn’t listen. I was too busy with other life obstacles to bother with planting for a yield that might be as much as four years out. I did have an extensive garden, but my promise to myself to grow orange trees had been all but forgotten. It was not until many years later, in a new home, that I began to diligently plant orange trees that grew in numbers just as my grand children did. The race was on.
I wrapped my trees year after year to protect them from the few harsh nights we get in Northern Florida; I ran lights out to them for heat. My promise had come back to push me onward, cold night after night, year after year. Now several of our trees are fifteen feet tall while others are still growing. The cold weather reeks havoc on the potential crops here, but with enough trees planted of varying varieties it seems something manages to come through with a crop if the others don’t.
It will be my 3rd year of crops, and this year my grandchildren will turn 4, 3 and 1. Yes, we pick together and I stand by with glee. No greater Christmas present than this promise I had made almost 23 years ago could I have given back to me. It is as if a dream I had has come home to roost. No one enjoys those oranges more than me, except for my grandchildren that is. They devour the oranges,(I’m thinking my daughter really never feeds them), and my grandchildren love calling the small unripe oranges “peek-a-boo” oranges cause they are so hard to spot on the trees as they grow. Even my electric fences and shot-gun blasts haven’t kept my grandkids away from the fruit.
So here it is in a sack: make a promise to yourself from now until then. Keep it in your mind’s eye; the joy of your promise will start right then. Work to keep your promise doable but distant. Think of what might come true if you remain so to yourself; pick something you know is out there and really hope you will do. It may take years for your promise to unfold like mine did but whatever. You will be the creator, strength and tether of your promise. You will have to count on you.
Some will call it a New Year’s Resolution, but those don’t run as deep. This will be a promise made from your heart, one in time you know you will keep. Find your promise for your time to come.
Happy New Year.

Here is a picture of my promise kept-my two Grandsons pick oranges with me.!
I’ll be writing more next year: that’s a promise.
Franque
PS last November 2010 my wife posted a video of me picking oranges in our yard with my Grandkids…couldn’t find it to add here and of course I will if I find it…..but promise kept-it’s a great feeling.