Pomegranates
Fall isn’t
fall without eggnog and pomegranates. The San Fernando Valley of Southern
California was built around orchards: oranges, lemons, grapefruits, apples,
avocados, and pomegranates. When the Developers came through and produced the never-ending
sub-divisions during the Post-War years of the 1950’s and 1960’s, they kept
many of those orchards on the property of the new homes. An area of the Valley
was even named for the pomegranates, Granada Hills. Granada is the Spanish
equivalent. The neat, rounded shrubs were introduced to California in 1769.
In December of
2000, I decided it was time take a walk back in time to that place that my
thoughts idolized for years. I drove through the streets we walked through as
kids. We plucked those precious gems off the trees that grew so freely. One of
the yards had overgrown pomegranate trees. They were wasting away on the
ground! Recently we paid $2.59 per pomegranate in Lehi, Utah! It is a yearly
tradition for us to purchase them – regardless of the cost. Like eggnog, that
is only sold during the Fall months.
As kids we
plucked them from all the trees. We would split them open on street signs when
we did not want to use our fingernails. Many times some went bad simply because
we had too many!
When I was a
small child, my mom made jelly from the precious juice of pomegranates. Her
father would serve me Shirley Temples,
a non-alcoholic drink made from concentrated pomegranate juice, 7-Up and a
maraschino cherry. My whole life, I thought she made popsicles, too, from
pomegranates. When I turned 43, I asked her about it. Nope, just the jelly!
During an
unusually enormous windstorm that swept through during the Fall of 1981, the
fruit blew off those old trees. They rolled down the streets. My brothers,
always resourceful when it came to something free, grabbed several large
greenish black, trash bags. They filled all
of those bags. We had free fruit for
some time. I made fresh squeezed juice. Such a treat!
November 2006,
my mom, my daughter, and I sat in Mom’s t.v. room eating pomegranates while
watching the final episode of M*A*S*H*.
She had never seen it, although she had wanted to. I had viewed it when
it was first aired back in 1983.
My boyfriend,
Bill Schumacher, and I raced home from school. The whole world was going to
watch the finale. We were in school at Los Angeles Valley College. Our classes
were late getting out. We arrived home in time to see the part where Hawkeye
was in the mental ward. He was trying to piece together the events that lead
him there. I never saw the beginning until November 10, 2006 when my kids and I
watched it. The eleventh and final series was a birthday gift from my kids. We
own the entire series. It is an integral part of our lives, so much so that when
I hear the introduction music, I can close my eyes and feel as if I am a
teen-age again.
My mom was
giving me things that she no longer needed. I wanted to share something that
was meaningful. Pomegranates and a television show that epitomized my childhood
for good and for bad. She had a picture of her graduating class from high
school .They were the first graduating class of James Monroe High School in
Sepulveda, California. I, too, attended twenty years after she did. I well
remember the building the picture was taken next to, T-Hall. I had classes in
that same building. I had seen this picture countless
times. This time, a face other than my mother’s looked familiar. I wondered if
it was Donna Ludwig, Richie Valen’s girlfriend. As if she knew what I was
thinking, my mom stood beside and pointed her out. Mom had once told me that
she knew Donna, but that was it. I did not realize that the girl went to Monroe
as well. Mom described the group of friends Donna hung out with and the
response after Richie died in a plane crash. Our family has since stood
together at the very spot the picture was taken so long ago. We have paid our
respects at Richie’s grave site as well as his beloved mother.
Today, tales
of its benefits are widely circulated. Religions tout it as a symbol of
righteousness. Folk medicine considers it an astringent. It is used as a
natural dye for synthetic fabrics. The culinary world considers it a spice.
There are even advertisements boasting of its cleansing powers. When I was a
kid, it was just an unusual fruit. Today,
it is a sacred tradition. We have now passed this tradition on to my
grandchildren. Lizzy loves to go around our home saying, “I love pomogwanits!”
For my next
birthday, Mom blessed me with a small case of pomegranates.
Kelli
McDonald
October
2013
