Pecan People
This time of year always has me thinking about pecan trees. Every time I drive past a grove, or what remains of one in a patch in my city, I take a long look. I love to see people in their light jackets and buckets or plastic sacks collecting for a pie or just to eat from the shell. My grandmother lived in a pecan grove. I've written of it before and fall was always my favorite time of year in Bullock County. I remember many a time eating Thanksgiving dinner out on the patio and the pecan harvesters would be rambling through the grove shaking the trees. Little black specs of pecan dust would land on our food and dot the Chardonnay. Nobody minded.
Anytime we were out there at my grandmother's, we'd walk through "the pasture" as we all called it and hear the crunch of dried pecan tree leaves under our feet. Pecan leaves seem to get extra crispy and curly. The leaves sound like Lay's potato chips, from the yella bag, when you walk through them. We'd walk down to the pond, for no reason at all, and collect pecans as we walked. Our pockets getting full and coats used to gather the rest; we didn't really need the coats, we were just told to put them on. I was about nine or 10 when I could crack pecans in my hand. I would watch my dad, my grandmother, my uncle, my cousins (even the Yankee ones), crack one pecan against the other and nibble on that sweet meat as we walked. I would have to wait on someone else to crack for me. But then I did it on my own. I remember I was on "Sister and Buzzy's side", the property across the road my grandparents gave my parents so that my dad could build a little fishing and hunting camp and my mother could build a beautiful country house, and I pressed two of those little gems together and one cracked! I had arrived.
Then I learned what to look for when you opened one. First, scrape off the bitter, sienna colored center; it's really bitter. Then make sure the meat is the right color, pecan colored. Not gray and shriveled; those have turned. Most of the time, you never know if the pecan will be good or not until you crack it. You never know if the meat is perfectly pecan colored and sweet, or shriveled and gray until the shell is cracked and opened. Pecans all look the same on the outside.
The trees do to. Most folks can't tell what trees will produce good pecans as they drive past a grove. Only some folks can walk through a grove and be able to tell which trees will produce good pecans and which won't. Either way, you have to crack open the pecans to see what's on the inside to know the good from the bad.
People are like pecans. You have to get to know them, crack them open, to see what they are really like. You can't just drive by a life and get a sense of it. You can't even walk past someone and think you know them. You have to stop and hold them in your hand, apply a little pressure against yourself, and see what's there. Hopefully, you get the sweet.
Anytime we were out there at my grandmother's, we'd walk through "the pasture" as we all called it and hear the crunch of dried pecan tree leaves under our feet. Pecan leaves seem to get extra crispy and curly. The leaves sound like Lay's potato chips, from the yella bag, when you walk through them. We'd walk down to the pond, for no reason at all, and collect pecans as we walked. Our pockets getting full and coats used to gather the rest; we didn't really need the coats, we were just told to put them on. I was about nine or 10 when I could crack pecans in my hand. I would watch my dad, my grandmother, my uncle, my cousins (even the Yankee ones), crack one pecan against the other and nibble on that sweet meat as we walked. I would have to wait on someone else to crack for me. But then I did it on my own. I remember I was on "Sister and Buzzy's side", the property across the road my grandparents gave my parents so that my dad could build a little fishing and hunting camp and my mother could build a beautiful country house, and I pressed two of those little gems together and one cracked! I had arrived.
Then I learned what to look for when you opened one. First, scrape off the bitter, sienna colored center; it's really bitter. Then make sure the meat is the right color, pecan colored. Not gray and shriveled; those have turned. Most of the time, you never know if the pecan will be good or not until you crack it. You never know if the meat is perfectly pecan colored and sweet, or shriveled and gray until the shell is cracked and opened. Pecans all look the same on the outside.
The trees do to. Most folks can't tell what trees will produce good pecans as they drive past a grove. Only some folks can walk through a grove and be able to tell which trees will produce good pecans and which won't. Either way, you have to crack open the pecans to see what's on the inside to know the good from the bad.
People are like pecans. You have to get to know them, crack them open, to see what they are really like. You can't just drive by a life and get a sense of it. You can't even walk past someone and think you know them. You have to stop and hold them in your hand, apply a little pressure against yourself, and see what's there. Hopefully, you get the sweet.
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