Which I responded, “As long as I don’t have to get up at the butt crack of morning, Totally!”**
I really didn’t know what to expect from the Orange Picking Party. Was it at a huge orange grove? What kind of people would be there? Should I bring anything? What should I wear? Will I get dirty? Is it far? What time? What’s blue? When a teacher picks his nose during a student’s exam, will he fling that booger far? *** I limited my questions to Patrick as I didn’t want him to un-invite me.
Oranges silly.
We arrived in Riverside around 2:30 PM. The band (there was a band!) was already playing and the oranges that were in arms reach were already picked off. There were plenty of oranges higher up so I grabbed a bag and an orange-picking pokey stick**** and began collecting. I also had to finish my beer really quickly as attempting to maintain balance on a slopie hill while trying to pull an orange from a tree using the orange-picking pokey stick and holding an increasingly heavy bag of oranges all the while holding a beer just wasn’t working. Kevin and I had to ask for advice from Michele’s son, Baron:
I ended up picking two large grocery bags worth. After the first bag I mentally told myself there would be no way I would need so many oranges even if I made orange juice and orange pie and orange muffins and orange fruitcake loaf for the next week. But I couldn’t stop picking those damn oranges. I’ve never picked my own food before. ***** It was awesome.
I don't know who this kid is but he cracks me up.
After I exhausted my orange picking efforts (Kevin had long since deserted me for food that didn’t come from a tree), I grabbed another beer and joined Kevin on the feasting. We then sat down and watched Patrick’s band play. In the below video, the girl singing is all of 13 years old, and I am apparently fascinated by Kevin’s chicken:
If you noticed from the video, this was a family party. Which is why it was very surprising that the cops came around at 6:30 PM to shut us down for noise violations. Apparently a neighbor complained that her windows were rattling. When I asked the hostess of the party if she invited everyone in the neighborhood she said, “Well I normally do but this year I didn’t.” D’oh! There must have been one angry neighbor who wanted to get her oranges picked. (hee)
Very Inland Riverside
Not wanting to have ‘the man’ bring us down, we stuck around for another hour or so. Take that ‘man’!
Patrick, the very funny drum-playing Irish man.
When we said good-bye to Patrick and Michele, I thanked them for inviting us. Patrick just smiled and mentioned that I must get a kick out of writing about things like this to make the people back home in the cold and snow jealous. I smiled back and said, “Yeah, yeah I do.”
*In California standards, going 5 miles east of the Pacific Ocean is considered ‘inland’. I know it’s absurd but I don’t make the rules I just Roman it (as in, ‘when in Rome’…I just made that up by the way; I wonder if it will stick).
**Not exact text message back, I am simply paraphrasing.
***And the answers are: Not a very big grove, maybe 15 trees. A buncha different types of people, mostly families. Bring beer. Wear anything you damn well please. If you want to get dirty. About 40 minutes away. ‘Round 1 PM. A color, dumb ass. Yes, it will fling farther than the further galaxy.
****Not actual name. Duh.
*****OK, OK, save for a couple raspberries on hiking trips, tomatoes from my small garden, and apples from my grandmother’s back yard. But I’m telling a STORY here.
Sidenote: I don't know what YouTube does to videos to make them look so grainy...the real video is much better. If anyone has any ideas, please let me know.
