Revisiting Oranges: My Journey to Appreciating the Fruit

Featured ~ ~ Stacy Sorrells ~

I really don’t like oranges. How do I know? Over forty years ago, after seeing how much my mother enjoyed them, I attempted to try one.

We were sitting at the kitchen table, and I watched her demonstrate how to eat an orange. If you think about it, as I did then, there isn’t a sound quite like the sound of ripping the skin off an orange. I could only imagine the pain the orange felt (look, I was probably 3 years old). But I continued to watch as my mother tore, dissected, and devoured that once innocent, perfectly round orange. It was a violence that she savored as she bit into the juicy fruit, chewed and swallowed repeatedly until there was nothing left but ragged rind. I, as her daughter, should have savored it equally as well. But my overly sensitive ass did not.

It was a violence that she savored as she bit into the juicy fruit, chewed and swallowed repeatedly until there was nothing left but ragged rind.

The skin was too tough for my little fingers to pierce. So my mother peeled it for me. She separated the orange in half and then peeled off a wedge for me. Juice popped into my mouth as my baby teeth bit down on it. I did not experience the elated satisfaction my mother did. I was disappointed and so disgusted that I spit it into a napkin. In my mind, it was the white veins of the orange, technically the pith, and I couldn’t remove enough of it to make the orange as delightful as my mother claimed it to be.

I could feel my mother’s disappointment as she tried to convince me that oranges were good for me. When I didn’t budge, I had been “wasteful” and “unreasonable,” but to me, the journey to the inevitable letdown simply wasn’t worth the effort. In fact, this became true for every fruit—grapefruit comes to mind. This was also my first real act of independence and rebellion. So I’ve continued on just fine, admiring oranges in their wholeness.

–Fast forward to last week.–

This was taken on my morning walk.

As often as possible, I get up early enough to walk around the local park, and I’m sometimes rewarded with a golden sunrise. While the park remains the same, no two mornings are alike. Sometimes, I admire the sun rays shooting between the trees and watch the tiny bugs warm their wings in brightness. Or how certain purple flowers appear pink as first light brushes against their blooms. Last week, my reticular activating system (RAS) was triggered by a tree with orange flowers.

This is the tree. From far away, the flowers look like oranges.

At that moment, I wondered what it would be like to have an orange tree of my own. I would walk by it in the early morning, pick one to eat for breakfast, or pick a few and make (pulp-free) orange juice. I could smell the orange and feel its bumpy skin under my fingertips. This image and sensation made no sense to me personally, given my epic dislike for the fruit.  But it felt like it was a message from the universe, and I carried that image back home. It stayed with me as I got ready for the day.

I could smell the orange and feel its bumpy skin under my fingertips

Later that morning, when I arrived at work, I went into the cafe to get some coffee as I normally do. With my RAS still activated, I immediately noticed not my coworkers but the oranges on the table, and I gasped. “Oh! Look at that!” I said. Then, I proceeded to tell my coworkers about my aforementioned experience at the park and how strange it was since I don’t like oranges.

One coworker asked why I didn’t like them. I told her it was the pith, and the taste wasn’t worth it. She explained that many people eat oranges before they are ripe, so they’re slightly bitter. She said that every morning, she had an orange “liquid gold” she called it, and her joy reminded me of my mother. She said that the Valencia oranges are the sweetest oranges and that her family has an orchard, and she offered to bring me some in the coming winter. I told her I would like that.

I found the entire morning exceptional. My experience with that tree led to an educational conversation in the cafe- so much so that I told my cubicle coworker about it. She, too, was amused.

I found the entire morning exceptional. My experience with that tree led to an educational conversation in the cafe- so much so that I told my cubicle coworker about it. She, too, was amused.

The next morning, when I went for my walk, I was again unusually focused on the tree, and I thought I must try a Valencia orange. I decided to stop at the grocery store on my way to work, hoping to find an organic Valencia orange. I did, and I bought two. I decided to save them for lunch.

I felt that my experience had been complete until my cubicle coworker arrived and said, “Oh my gosh, I have to tell you something.” She threw her personal items down in her chair. Side note: She absorbs “T” like a sponge and was so excited that I turned to face her and give her my full attention. “My daughters love to bake, and when I got home last night, my daughter said “Mama, I need you to buy me Valencia oranges””

I felt that my experience had been complete until my cubicle coworker arrived and said, “Oh my gosh, I have to tell you something.”

I held up my hand to stop her, “WAIT! Has your daughter ever specifically asked for Valencia oranges?”

“No!” she shouted.

I gasped.

She continued, “So I asked her why that specific orange wasn’t there? And she said everything you told me yesterday, how they are the sweetest and so on.”

All I could think was, what does this mean? I did not eat those oranges at lunch since 1) they are messy and 2) given the circumstances, I wanted to give my next attempt at orange eating a full appreciation.

Yesterday, I decided I was ready to try eating an orange again. This time, it was quite easy to break the skin with my adult fingers, and I could hardly hear the sound of the ripping and separating of flesh over my tinnitus. The juice of the fruit was actually quite sweet and very nice. I have to say I was no longer disgusted by the pith; it went down quite easily.

But then I bit into a seed, then another, and another, and I put them off to the side. Then I asked my Alexa device how to start an orange tree from seed. It couldn’t be easier. So, I decided to plant the seeds; I just had citrus potting soil on hand. And so, ten years from now, I might actually be able to walk in my own garden, pull an orange from a tree, and eat it for breakfast.

But wait, there’s more!

I was today years old when I learned that the pith is high in fiber and lowers cholesterol, exactly what this premenopausal woman needs in her life right now. So, as I get older, I once again find myself having to admit that mom was right; oranges are good for me.