The Clementines Aren’t Good This Year

Clementines have always been my favorite fruit.

Every year, those around me would dread those long, mid Atlantic, Pennsylvanian winters,

When it would be dark as night by late afternoon,

When the once rolling green hills were then encased in a thick ice,

But not me.

I always knew that the bone chillingly cold temperatures,

The thick snowflakes,

The twinkling snow, illuminated by the street signs, on a quiet, late evening in 2007,

Meant that the clementines were good again.

I would dig my fingers into the orange netting, held together by the flimsy blue plastic “Cuties” label,

Pick out one perfectly plump, bright orange mandarin,

Sometimes two or three at a time,

Tear off two paper towel sheets for the peels,

Take a seat in my favorite living room chair, light and bouncy,

Start peeling back the bright orange encasing, excited to indulge in natures candy.

Each bite bringing a burst of sweet, tart, citrusy joy,

Each peel dowsing me in nature’s citrusy perfume, the scent leaving a lingering trail as I move from room to room,

And go back for seconds, maybe thirds, maybe fourths.

Through all life’s trials and tribulations, no matter what, I could always count on those December months, because the clementines are good again.

Now as I sit here, as an adult in mid November of 2024,

Watching my future slowly unravel,

As the farmers are sent away,

As the winds take beautiful Florida by storm,

As fires ravage California and floods sink the Carolinas,

As the dollar becomes of less value,

Still struggling in my attempts to remain optimistic, I squeeze my eyes shut and tell myself, the clementines will be good soon.

As soon as I can I go to the store , and I grab handfuls of natures candy by the pound in orange netted sacks,

But I notice on the way home, there is no twinkling snow illuminated by the street lights,

The roads are not encased in ice, but they are also not green, and I remember,

The earth is too warm for snow and ice,

But at least the clementines are good again.

As I did when I was young, I tore apart the orange netting, grabbed my paper towels, excited for my snack, only to realize,

The clementines were not plump nor supple,

The clementines were dry, shriveled, and stale.

Surely I had to have gotten a bad batch, but this continued,

And it dawned on me that this was not a fluke,

The clementines are not good this year.

There is no ice on the road, no snowmen in the front yards, no snow angels or sled trails,

There are no jobs, there is no certainty, there is no world full of twinkling snow as I once knew it,

There is no land, there is no climate, there are no farmers to ensure,

that the clementines would be good this year.

I kneel and I pray that the clementines will be good next year , because God knows I need it,

and God knows there are many others who need it more than I,

and that’s how I knew things were bad,

because the clementines were not good this year.