Lessons

Wednesday mornings, I work for a farmer out of Northern California, selling fruit. Today was an especially fine day. I learned a couple extra things:

1. Blenheim apricots: The way to pick them is to go for the ugliest ones. This idea can have so many other applications, but it is interesting when trying to sell the damn things. We are so convinced that the best must be perfect-looking (I'll keep it to fruit before I start waxing philosphic on life!), but really, the ones that are pushed aside are the most satisfying.

2. The difference between the old folks, the children, and the rest of us in-between: First, when the children, the ones where their eyes can just barely be seen over the table while they are up on tippie-toes, are standing in front of these big bins of fresh fruit, they are amazing. Their eyes are big, nearly glazed, and they seem as though this is the first time they've ever seen anything like this. They are silent, but their expressions seem to be squealing. When a mommy gives them one of their very own peaches, or cherries, or apricots, they eat it like it was birthday cake.

Secondly, the old folks. I hear the stories about how the stuff in the store isn't nearly as good and how they were raised with apricot trees and would pick them right off the tree themselves. But today was different. Today an old man came to the table. The farmer, who runs the fruit stand, took a piece of fruit, tore it in half and gave a piece to the man. After one bite, he lowered his head and said "I feel like I'm back in the 50s."

In that moment I cherished him. The nostalgia he was experiencing was overwhelming and I wanted a piece of that. I told him we aren't just a fruit stand, we are a time machine. We talked for a few more minutes - about life, and getting through it by laughing.

A bit later an old woman came up. Didn't tell the usual story I've heard, instead she leaned in (didn't have to lean too far, she was hankered down from osteoporosis) and gave the peaches a big sniff. She kept her eyes close and a slight smile appeared on her face. I wish I knew what she was thinking exactly. She opened her eyes, looked at me for a quick second, still holding that smile and said, "I'll take a pound."

I could tell she was not going to rush through any of it. She was going to hold each piece in her hand, roll it around gently to see every color and dent, smell it, and savor each and every bite.

Lastly, the in-betweeners: overall, not much to say. I told my co-fruit-seller-guy that I noticed how the old and the very young are most affected by the farmer's markets and the in-betweens don't have the same reaction. The in-betweens hurry through it, with a few conversations going on with a few people. The co-seller-guy said "maybe they are too busy living too much life." Well-put. Maybe they have too many worries and distractions that they've lost the glazed-eyes of childhood and haven't quite reached the point where a little nostalgia gives a quiet grin.

I need to remember this. I'm one of those in-betweeners and I want to be glazed and I want a simple smile to easily appear and I DON'T want to get good at multi-tasking. But I wonder, 50 years from now, will there be something that makes me say "oh, that takes me to the 80s" and dear god, what will it be.