This year’s pecans had arrived! There they were in a parcel post wedged in my mailbox like too big a zeppelin in too small a hanger. I was grateful for my mail carrier’s determination to make it fit and in doing so, keeping a trip to the Post Office off of my to-do list. (I see Pecan Sandies in her future.)
As I ripped through the box flaps with the edge of my truck key, I marveled at just how much my Mom could get in one fixed-rate postage parcel. Inside, the bars of gold, uh, I mean bags of pecans glistened, their peek-a-boo cellophane windows teasing me with a view of the precious gems inside.
Every year my Mom and Dad’s church sells premium Georgia pecans as a fundraiser. (I think my Mom alone buys half the shipment.) Lucky for me their generosity always finds its way to Pacific Northwest. Enjoying freshly-shelled pecans, it’s a tradition this time of year that’s like a hug from home. And for a man who could eat his weight in pecan pie, it’s a gift that may make it harder to hug me in the months to come. Thanks Mom and Dad!
What I was blogging about a year ago: Planting Perfume and Memories: Fragrant Plants You Won’t Forget