Osage Oranges
By Ursula Bendix
Today is the autumn day I have been waiting for: Deciduous trees with their colorful foliage contrast magnificently against the indigo sky; leaves fluttering in the slight breeze fill the warm afternoon air with the wonderful aroma of fall. I have been hoping for just such a day
My two plastic shopping bags in the car have been at the ready for several days. I grab my garden gloves, pull a light jacket from the hall closet, jump into the car, and head east out of town as I have done on similar days for almost 20 years.
I connect to Hwy 3 toward Montague. I pass leisurely through this very western, forlorn frontier town. I am not in a hurry. I look for the Ball Mt./Little Shasta road and turn. Soon I see the entrance to the Shasta Valley Wildlife Preserve. I will not enter this time. There will be other opportunities to walk the trails before snowfalls close the road into the Preserve.
I drive on. I see no cattle in the fields. Perhaps they have not been brought down from the hills. It has been a very mild November, no significant frost yet.
I spot the Little Shasta road and turn left. In the distance I see the Little Shasta church with its friendly white steeple that adds so much charm to this portion of the Shasta Valley.
I reach my destination. I slow down and look for the bright green fruit that brings me here.
Happiness! For a distance of perhaps a mile tall Osage orange trees line the road acting as a windbreak for the fields. Their fruit has fallen into the ditch that runs along the road. I stop when I see particularly large, bumpy and lumpy Osage oranges. Neither frost nor rain nor snow has damaged the fruit which appears more bountiful and larger than ever. I park the car as close to the ditch as possible, grab the plastic bags. I marvel how quickly I fill my two bags this year. I am content! The fruit’s bright green color will bring a festive feel to my house.
I drive home slowly, savoring the beauty of Little Shasta as the sun is setting. The holiday season begins for me.
