And In Atlanta, Georgia

(I rerun this post every year during Christmas week, and so, here goes, again.  It was originally posted December 24, 2007.)

And so there was this family of nine children who, every year for Christmas, received an orange, because oranges weren't local and during the Depression, when this story took place, something not local was still such a very rare and special treat. And when the father returned home late, late, late, in the middle of a blizzard, with the Christmas oranges, the youngest child couldn't wait to get his hands on his orange.

But then, as stories like this tend to go, he lost his beloved orange. The other children found this out and knew what an incredible sadness this was, to wait all year for something sweet and special and then lose it because of being too anxious and careless.

But when they all woke up on Christmas morning, there were nine oranges on the fireplace mantel. All nine. How could that be? Well, one of the oranges was wrapped with a ribbon. Because that orange, Frankie's orange, was made up out of a slice from each of the other eight.

And so, now, after many years of reading this story, An Orange for Frankie, by my very favorite children's author and illustrator, Patricia Polacco, I cannot look at an orange without thinking of it.

Now, as a heavy, full moon hangs over my garden, pulling moisture up to fatten my Christmas salad, and I prepare to line my mantel with oranges as well, one always made up of slices from the others, the sweet and gentle words from a song by the band Alabama waft through my mind:

By now in New York City
There's snow on the ground
And out in California
The sunshine's falling down
And maybe down in Memphis
Graceland's all in lights
And in Atlanta, Georgia
There's peace on earth tonight

Click here to hear the song.  It has played at least 14 times while I've written and edited this post (mostly correcting my million typos).

And for those of you who may be struggling this week, I offer you this poem by Mary Oliver. It was shared with me by a dear friend who is undergoing serious medical issues.

Wild Geese

By Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
Love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
Are moving across the landscapes,
Over the prairies and the deep trees,
The mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
Are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
The world offers itself to your imagination,
Calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
Over and over announcing your place
In the family of things.

For more on Mary Oliver, click here.

And finally, as yet another example of the incredible cosmic energy swirling around the world, I sat down to read the Travel section of The New York Times last night and there was a story about Adelaide, Australia. I showed the map to my younger daughter, who had drawn that exact map as part of her Flat Stanley project for school (for those who don't know, my daughter sent Flat Stanley to Kate and Maggie in Australia, who then sent Stan the Man on to Beijing, China--the experience was truly life-changing in this household). My daughter shouted, "It's Adelaide!" And for some odd reason, I knew it was not a coincidence. You can read the Times' article about Adelaide here, and for what it's worth, Pliny's Italy has nothing on Adelaide, apparently!

Okay, I managed to get Patricia Polacco, Alabama, Mary Oliver, Adelaide, and even another Pliny mention all into this post. I can't call this post complete without telling you this little story:

So I'm at a drug store getting a couple little things and the clerk says, "A dollar eighty seven."

I gasp a little and ask, "Did you just say a dollar eighty seven?"

"Yes, ma'm, a dollar eighty seven," the poor, unsuspecting young man replies.

"The Gift of the Magi! The Gift of the Magi!" I squeal.

He looks at me blankly.

"You know, Della? Jim? The hair? The combs? The watch?"

Blank. Blank. Blank.

Awkward silence.

Finally, he starts to put my items in a plastic bag.

"Oh, no thank you, " I say, deflated. "I don't need a bag."

And off I go, branded a wacko by yet another store clerk in my long list of them. (Here's the classic story by O. Henry, by the way.) Seems a fitting way to end my FoodShed Planet year, however, don't you think?

I am now taking my first break in seven months from daily posting. I have books to read and movies to watch and walks to take and things to bake and friends and family to love. I'll be back January 8, 2008 (2010 update: I'll be back January, 2, 2011). Ready to garden. Ready to advocate for fresh, simple, local, organic, real food. And ready to try to change the world for the better, even if it's just a little bit.

Sign up for the FoodShed Planet email alerts and RSS feed (see sidebar) and together, we'll see where the journey takes us.

In the meantime, I wish you a very special orange of your own. And peace--and peas--on earth tonight.

And In Atlanta, Georgia