Talking Produce

As a child, my father and I would go riding in his massive, dirty and incredibly old bobtail truck. We would go from farm to farm collecting that weeks produce. The heat at times seemed unbearable but the fun we had joking, tasting all the garden-fresh produce and just being together made it all worth while. One particular steamy Texas day we decided to venture down to my father’s favorite watermelon patch. As the workers picked the bright green jewels from their tender vines, I found myself with an uncontrollable hunger for that succulent slice of heaven only a Texas Black Diamond watermelon can quench. The melons were enormous and the sun was so fierce that when my father sliced that Black Diamond down the middle I promptly decided to sit in one half as I devoured the sweet, juice dripping down my elbows, mouth watering other half. Needless to say, by the time the truck was loaded I was a mess. There was nothing like it in the world! You see, I come from a long line of farmers and produce peddlers. It runs through our veins and drives us in everything we do. The days are long and the nights are even longer, but it’s what we do - who we are. I even married a man that came from a farming family. I always knew my life would revolve around produce. I thought of myself as the “little farmer’s wife” and dreamt of helping my husband on the farm and at the store always sneaking little kisses, just like my mom and dad. Little did I know, God had other plans for me.

It happened almost naturally. When I had an intense feeling I would write. Sometimes I would write in journals, books, and even once on my bedroom furniture. Boy, did I get in trouble for that! It was my release, my way of saying what was really on my mind. To write meant to be free from everything around me. When I started school my teachers encouraged me to write stories of every kind. I loved it! I could imagine anything and when I put those words on paper they became real to me. I didn’t care if anyone else liked it! Sometimes, I didn’t even want to show my work to them. This was mine, my world, and my creation. As customary, I progressed through school and the opinions of others became valuable to me, so my writing slowed down and I began to lose confidence in myself. By the time I graduated and married my husband, writing was nonexistent in my life. The void was painful, but life had crept in and I was on my way to becoming that “farmer’s wife” I had always known I‘d be.

The years pasted by with only a glimpse here and there of my former self and before long, Texas began to look like a dried out, never ending tumble weed. The opportunity arose for my husband and I to leave this great abyss for glamorous, sunny California so that we could help his dad with a small, quaint organic farm nestled at the foot of the Cuyamaca Mountains. We finally arrived after a torturous drive across several states with two children and two dogs in one U-Haul truck. I couldn’t believe my eyes! The scenery was captivating to my core, my soul. It touched me in a way I hadn’t felt in years. I instantly felt the sparks going off in my head. The urge to write stirred in me once again. After we were settled, I saw an ad in the local newspaper asking for help with their classified department, mostly typing the ads and taking phone orders. I timidly applied, not having much experience with this type of work, but I some how manage to land the job. To my absolute delight, being surrounded by other writers ignited my creative flame with a vengeance, burning like never before! I was once again writing on anything in my path, napkins, daily planners, my children’s school papers, even pulling over on the side of a cliff to jot down ideas. I was terrified of loosing my ability again and elated that it was pouring out of me at the same time.

This is how the idea came to me. I would start a column that would combine the two things that I loved most, writing and produce. The title would be “Talking Produce”. I designed a column that would begin with a brief story, memory or something special about that week’s chosen piece of produce, then some health benefits and for the grand finale, a recipe. Everyone loves a recipe! I told my closest friends about my break through. They eagerly encouraged me to pitch the idea to my editor. I froze! How could I even approach him? The thought of it sent chills down my spine and gave me a sudden urge to rush off to the bathroom. I mean, he owned the newspaper but with much persuasion from my friends I gathered my wits and asked to see him. After carefully and attentively listening to me, he told me to have 350 words on his desk the next day. I couldn’t believe it! As quickly as the joy rushed in, the terror struck me where I stood. I had absolutely nothing prepared and only one day to perfect my master piece. I dashed to the nearest coffee shop and spent the day with my face buried in my work, only coming up for breath to breeze through books at the library in hopes of finding the correct nutritional information I considered necessary for this type of column.

The following day, paper in hand, encompassed by “what if’s”, I nervously presented my creation to him. I waited with baited breath; my heart pounding with such force I thought it might leap from my chest at any moment. As he read, he began to smile. Was that a laugh smile, this is crap smile or a great job smile? I had no idea. Then he turned to me and offered me the column every week at a rate of fifteen dollars per column. I was elated! I would have paid him! This was the first real publication of my work. It was my fairy tale dream, come true! When the next paper came out with my column, my life’s destiny appearing in it, I bought a portfolio. I knew it was just the beginning. Nothing could ever take me away from this again, nothing.

As I went about my life, people everywhere started to notice me from the picture beside my column. They complimented my work, asked questions and wanted to know if I was writing anything else. I was astonished and delighted at the response. I even began to receive letters at the newspaper. My editor, of course, took it all in stride, but to me life had never been so good. Today I live in Texas again and dream of writing a children’s book, but I will never forget that summer in California when my writing career began and the love of my two worlds collided.