During our childhood one of the household chores was tag teaming oranges. the Trees seemed enormous, branches heavy with ripe, sunkissed fruit. we would tag team the trees, carefully pulling the oranges from the trees with careful precision and eager excitement. there was something special about the ritual, even though it was part of the routine. it was’t just juice: it was the scent and taste of our childhood.

The scent of oranges filled the back patio as we cleaned and pressed each one on the juicer. We would watch the liquid collect in the pitcher. the first taste – was the taste of sunshine itself.

Now, Decades later, the tradition continues as grandkids carry fresh picked oranges into the kitchen. Their laughter echoes ours from years ago, and they, too, have taken on the task of juicing oranges for the family. Watching the small hands grip the oranges and with delight hear the familiar ….Whirl

Time moves on, but in threads of time that connect – it feels like nothing has changed. Oranges still grow, the juice still flows, the scent of oranges on a summer breeze brings me back.