“Orange Grove” painting by Tom Brown
My Real Memoir: Frieda’s Magical Garden
At the Ripe Old Age of Three…
I began spending my days in a magical place. As previously stated, Mom and Dad were both working, and I’d been dishonorably discharged from preschool for “conduct unbecoming a three-year-old.” So Mom had no choice but to place me with someone far more laissez-faire than my former drill-sergeant preschool teacher (“It’s nap time, mister, and when I say, ‘Sleep!’ you don’t ask, ‘What if I’m not sleepy?’ you say, ‘M’am, yes, M’am!’”)
Enter Frieda. She and her husband Alfred lived in a rambling California rancho amid what had once been a sprawling orange grove. But their ranch hands (a.k.a. sons) had since moved out. And so Alfred was gradually selling off the property to developers, who were in turn reseeding the landscape with tract homes. “Three Models to Choose From: Pick A, B, or C (with C you get Egg Roll)!” This included our little suburban dream-box at the other end of the block.
But the rancho still encompassed quite a few acres. It was dense with citrus and other kinds of trees. In addition, Frieda grew tomatoes, onions, pumpkins, squashes in every known and unknown color (griffin, ochre, octarine). There were flowers full of flying critters who would inspect me for nectar whenever I stood still. Which I seldom did.
Frieda Was My Daymom
And not just mine. She also nannied ducks, chickens, geese, rabbits, parakeets–pretty much anything that moved. Cats wandered where they chose. Under the house, on the roof, in the trees. They served as volunteer ranch hands (or, rather, paws), living off the all-the-vermin-you-can-eat buffet.
And so did I. No, I never tried mouse or rat, but I did carry a salt shaker to sprinkle on fresh-picked tomatoes. Caught oranges as they fell, too sugar-heavy to hold on anymore. And decided God created lemons just so Frieda could make me lemonade. I quickly learned to climb, and would lie in the branches of fig trees for hours, munching their sweet little seeds and making up stories about Frieda’s Magical Garden.
My Earliest Friends Were Trees and Animals
I loved them, and they loved me back. Well, most of them did. There was one particular goose named Queenie who took her name a bit too seriously. She’d peck me mercilessly any time I failed to show proper respect as one of her subjects. Frieda taught me to chant, “Pretty goose, pretty goose,” until Queenie finally harumphed and waddled away.
There was one particular tree I called my Dreaming Tree, and it loved me the best. It was the only one of its kind. Its tart-honey fruit tasted and smelled like heaven. It was there every day of the year, never shedding its silver-green leaves, always waiting to hold me in its arms. Once, I fell asleep daydreaming and tumbled from its branches. I had the wind knocked out of me, and was certain I would die. Still, I forgave it. Frieda rubbed the life back into my chest, and the next day I was back in its branches, daydreaming once again.
I never saw another tree like it. But two decades later, the memory of its unique fruit would have a profound effect on me.
To read My Real Memoir from the start, click here. To read the next episode, click here.
Cliffhanger!!😇
;>)
What a great way to spend a childhood. It sounds magical.
🧡
Sounds like an enchanting childhood.
As I said elsewhere, Smitha, I’m sure there were times I was bored or angry about something. But, yes, overall my memory of that particular period of time has a glow to it.
You had your own Alice in Wonderland garden.
Of sorts, yes, Iba.
Magical memories
Charming!
Thank you, Doval.
Sounds so dreamy!
Oh, I’m sure there were times I was bored or angry about something. But, yes, overall my memory of that time has a glow to it.
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What lovely memories! 🙂
Thank you, Nancy❣
What a wonderful place to flourish as a child. I loved every bit of this installment in your memoir, Mitch, including the link back to your previous mention of the tree. It reminds me of the tiny “apple orchard” in the yard behind my childhood home. I think there were just 8 trees–two rows of four. Many adventures were lived out in or beneath the branches of those trees by our neighborhood kids. I wasn’t much of a tree-climber, but I remember that my friends and I, burgeoning Barbie doll cases in tow, would meet up beneath one of the trees for afternoons of Barbie doll fun.
Thanks for helping me recall my own good childhood memory by sharing your reminisce.
Delighted to have stirred your own childhood memories, Cindie.
I love every inch of this post, Mitch! I was a early childhood teacher who always got the wiggly ones. Probably because I was a wiggly one myself. I’m so glad you found your rightful place in this world!
Aw, thank you, Joanne❣
Thank you for this post, Mitch. I grew up in one of those A,B or C choice residential tract neighborhoods that had probably once been an orange grove. I’ve always loved gardens and I would have been in heaven in the place you describe. Still, we did a bit of gardening in our smallish back yard. Our lemon tree had yearly explosions and our orange tree gave a good harvest every few years. I still have such fond memories of that neighborhood where our family spent so much time together.
Delighted to have triggered that memory, Chris!
🙂
Beautiful memories!
Wonderful tales of a truly magical time in your life, Mitch. As I read this, I felt like I was daydreaming in that tree, too. Some of my childhood was spent in a house that was surrounded by orange groves and avocado orchards, a bit further south (Escondido).
I’m wondering, though, was Frieda’s husband’s name Alfred or Albert (para 2)? Or both? Or did she have two husbands? Or you don’t quite remember so you are just covering your bases? 😉😁
;>) Typo. It was Alfred. Fixed it. Thanks for the catch, Ed!
Heavenly descriptions of a young boy’s heavenly ‘daycare’ ❤️
Thank you, Lisa.
As always you put a smile on my face the way you tell your past. You have fond memories and fun growing up.
Me on the other hand was busy helping my mom around the house after school and having good conversations. After she past it was taking the role of her responsibility looking after the household and helping my sister with her business.
🧡
In your stories, you have a wonderful way of making the term “growing up” seem like some sort of inhumane punishment. 😊
;>)
Sounds like you really loved where you grew up, that’s so cool. Ever go back? Is it still the same?
“With C you get egg roll” 😂🤣 I can’t… classic flick 😎
I dropped by and said hello when I was in my late 30s. Frieda was a widow then and getting up in years. Her house and property are gone now, subdivided into several properties.
What a fun way to grow up surrounded by birds and animals and the wild. I hope you don’t eat the animals you say you love. 🙂
Lovely!
Thank you, Jennie!
You’re welcome, Mitch!
I also grew up around trees and animals. I wish every child had that opportunity.
This is a wonderful story. Waiting for the next chapter.
Thank you, Tim.
omg, Mitch. a heaven for any little one–girl included. my dad worked the citrus farms and i lived on oranges.
<3
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