fresh fruit

Dear Lucas,

I haven’t eaten strawberries with you in so long! I haven’t folded the green leaves between my fingers before taking a bite of the deep red fruit. I haven’t had the juice of a particularly ripe one run down my chin, or the tiny yellow seeds get stuck in my teeth. I haven’t picked out the biggest five from the plastic container to put on your plate, and I haven’t dunked them whole into a bowl of cool whip.

I can’t even remember the last time I saw a strawberry! Or any kind of berry for that matter! Morocco doesn’t seem to have much by the way of berries. There are no strawberries, no blueberries, not raspberries, and la samah allah, (God Forbid!) no blackberries! On Fourth of July I couldn’t make a berry-flag cake if I wanted to, and I can’t make us a single banana-berry smoothie!

It’s not that bad, though. The abundance of other fruits make up for the lack of berries. And, more so than their abundance, their quality really makes up for it. The other fruits here are so wonderful, so fresh, and oh so flavorful. You can’t eat an orange without needing to wash not just your hands, but all the way up to your elbows afterwards. There are figs that are bright green on the outside and pink on the inside. The peaches aren’t as good as they are in Texas (and no one has ever even heard of peach cobbler!), and I’m sure not as good as they are in Florida, but the nectarines are unlike any other nectarine I’ve ever eaten. They are so ripe the skin peels right off, and I always have a puddle of sweet juice left on the table that, unfortunately, never made it to my lips.

But the best fruit here, by far, is the melon. No question. Not only have I never seen so many mountains of melon before, but I’ve also never tasted so many different kinds! Of course there is watermelon and cantaloupe, but here is also “yellow melon” and the most delicious, juicy, wonderful honeydew I’ve ever tasted. I didn’t even know honeydew could taste so good! And regardless of what they look like on the outside—like a cantaloupe with brown little ridges or like a smooth, yellow colored football—I’m always excited to see what they’ll look like on the inside. Sometimes I think it will be honeydew, but then it turns out to be the milder, firmer yellow melon. Other times I expect it to taste like cantaloupe, but it ends up being honeydew! And I’m not the only one who is confused. Everyday at lunch when we are served melon for dessert, I ask my speaking partners what it is called. Without a doubt, there is over a debate: is it honeydew or yellow melon? Cantaloupe or simply just “melon?” No one can ever agree!

But everyone knows what watermelon is. There is never a question with watermelon. Its size gives it an automatic royal status. It is usually cut into manageable, handheld pieces, but is served by itself on a grand platter. My host family will always serve it with pride, and share its glory with our neighbors.

After we’re full from our watermelon dessert, we say alhamdallah (thank God!), and lean back into our cushions, hands on bellies, eyes on the rivers of pink juice spotted with black seeds flowing on the table in front of us.

Love,

Miss Emily