California dreaming: Ojai oranges

Amanda and I were walking her three dogs, Honey, Duffy, and Charlie on a quiet road in Ojai that carves  through what once were fruit orchards. Low-slung houses basked in the sun under a clear blue sky. The thick sweet scent of oleander hung in the air. We talked as we walked, and sang together, and enjoyed the excitements of the dogs.

As we hummed along, we came to a card table set in front of one of the houses, with bags of oranges set on it. Two young blond boys stood by the table, and the older of the two asked if we would like to buy some oranges. "Are they good?" asked Amanda. His eyes lit up. "They are the sweetest juiciest oranges in the whole valley," he said.

                     

"How much?"

Three dollars a bag, twenty-five cents an orange; but we had nothing in our hands but dog leashes, and nothing in our pockets at all. Promising to come back later with some money, we walked on a bit, down the lane and around a corner.

Then we heard someone running behind us. Someone in floppy sneakers. We turned, and there were the boys, each with an orange in their hands, coming up fast behind us. "So you can try them," said Jackson. We took the warm oranges, said thank you, and headed back to Amanda's house.

Once the dogs were settled, Amanda juiced the oranges, and oh my! They were the juiciest and sweetest oranges imaginable, and the juice was so intensely flavored by the goodness of the fruit and the warmth of the sun that all we could do was laugh.

We went back later that afternoon to buy a bag.

In the east, and all over the world, we all have images of California in our minds, or memories, or fantasies and nightmares.

That afternoon, those oranges and oleanders and boys and dogs and singing with my friend, all of that is my California.