Cinnamon

Bennie smelled her fingers – cinnamon. It was left over from the latté she had for breakfast (if you can even call a spun concoction of coffee and milk a latté). It’s not that she was too cheap to buy one from her favorite coffeeshop, but for the month of November she had made a “mental note” to actually follow her budget. So she adds cinnamon and a squeeze of agave syrup to her coffee and soy milk, making it more fancy. She’s bougie, but she’ll never admit it. Also, she read online in one of thousands of articles that essentially consist of the same theme – “12 Ways to Help Burn Fat!” – that cinnamon is an antioxidant. Bennie likes to think that by putting cinnamon in her coffee she is not only saving money, but also being healthy. Bennie smirks.

Although she had finished her “latté” much earlier when the sun was still rising and the sky still pale, the scent of that copper colored spice lingers yet. When she smells her fingers, nostalgia overcomes her. She pauses, holding on to this moment of tranquility. Returning to a more peaceful time, transcending further than the bounds of her office walls, her mind stretches to childhood.

_______

“Zinnaaaaa!!” Bennie yells at her sister. Zina looks up, and Bennie smiles, running towards her. Zina was crouched, examining a pumpkin. The two girls were surrounded by row after row of the bright orange squash, but Zina, lovely Zina, always found the one pumpkin that stood out amongst the others.

“What type of pumpkin is that?” Bennie asked Zina. “Why is it all white?”

“It’s a ghost pumpkin. It’s albino. That means it has no color.” Zina answered all of Bennie’s questions with patience, the way older siblings learn to do.

“Albiiiino…” Bennie repeated the new word, rolling it around in her mouth. “Hmm. That’s cool.” Bennie liked how Zina always knew the science stuff.

“Hey, girls, look at me.” Momma approached, holding a disposable camera. Zzzz zzzzz zzzztt. Bennie loved the winding sound of the film strip. She scooted closer too Zina and kneeled down next to her, squinting her eyes against the noon sun. With a hand on the pumpkin, Bennie steadied herself and smiled widely.

The selection process always took some time. Bennie scoured crates upon crates of pumpkins, lifting and pushing the heavy ones out of the way to get a look at the possible buried treasure. She would take as much time needed until the right pumpkin revealed itself. Bennie always wanted a big pumpkin. Her logic being the bigger the pumpkin, the more seeds it would have inside. Daddy always roasted the pumpkin seeds after carving was done. Zina chose peculiar pumpkins with atypical characteristics. Momma liked medium size pumpkins, that were perfect – not a scratch or a dent or a sloped side, adorned with a long stem. She also would select a few speckled gourds to take home. The ones with the odd colors and strange, twisty shapes. She placed them on the front porch and in the living room, using them as table ornaments. Momma could have worked for Real Simple, “Filling Your Home with Fall for $20 or Less!” Daddy liked his pumpkins tall, oval, and oblong.

At the pumpkin patch, loose straw was scattered everywhere. Bays of hale were stacked together, creating benches and makeshift photo opportunities for families to remember the day. Bennie didn’t like the hay bales, they were uncomfortable – the straw always poked through her pants, irritating her skin.

Her favorite part about going to Golden Ridge was trying to get lost. Bennie would run through the apple orchards, racing through the trees, going left and right as far and as fast as she could – trying to outrun herself. She liked the feeling of being lost, while knowing the whole time she was perfectly safe. (She would never stop exploring. Bennie likes that about herself, but at the same time, wishes she could be content staying in the same place for once.) However, when she heard Momma calling her name, she would always return. Momma’s authority was everlasting.

___

“Hey Bennie, where are we at on the GMO article? The website is supposed to be updated tomorrow by 9 in the morning.”

He wasn’t peeved, but just looking at her expectantly. She preferred working under female bosses, but James wasn’t so bad. She would get used to the environment eventually. This was her second week as a Content Creator with Rome – an online media source dedicated to nonpartisan publishing where the articles’ sole purpose is simply to define, to educate, nothing more. The purpose being to let the consumer make the decision on whether or not they agree with the content.

The writing was a challenge for her because Bennie had an opinion on almost everything, but she still loved the work. No day was the same, and the research was never ending.

“I’m wrapping up the final touches now. I’ll have it to you before lunch.”

GMO’s… they do have their benefits. But she couldn’t get behind the fact that it’s just unnatural. Organic is always the way to go. Eat it how the earth gives it to you. Organic produce just tastes better too. However, as global warming continues to ravage the planet, affecting the weather cycles, which in turn affects the soil and the whole ecosystem loses control of itself, GMO’s are a solution to a problem we would’ve never had to solve.

She looked at the lunch bag on her desk. Opening it, she grabbed her apple and examined the round fruit. Honeycrisp, her favorite. She had bought it from the farmer’s market just a couple days ago. Honeycrisp apples, in fact, are a GMO. Maybe this apple isn’t as bad as something grown in a lab or with pesticides, but this specific strain of apple was genetically modified in order to create the signature “Honeycrisp” texture and taste. It can still be grown organically, however, it too is not natural. She sighs. Just because you buy your produce from Whole Foods or directly from the farmer doesn’t mean shit. But a lot of consumers don’t even know that, much less that buying produce “farm to table” is actually cheaper and more environmentally friendly than going to the grocery store. Bennie takes a bite of the apple. Well, she can’t deny it – GMO’s are tasty.

____

A day at Golden Ridge was never a bad day. Somehow the sun was always out and shining, no matter if it was December or June. A friendly haven nestled in the mountain towns of northern California, Golden Ridge wasn’t just where you went to get pumpkins. Sometimes, they would pick fruit too. Once, for one of Bennie’s birthdays, they went berry picking up in Golden Ridge. The back of the car was filled with cases of strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, and blackberries. They made so many smoothies after that day. The berries were so fresh and sweet. Most times though, they came back with apples, because Golden Ridge is most notable for all its orchards.

The energy there was circular. Smiles and laughs bounced off people, like an echo in a cave. Endless. Fresh. Invigorating. Bennie misses that. Happiness. Youth. Blessings of innocence. We all take ignorance for granted. She sits at her desk and contemplates how she never saw a single frown, not a tear, or a grumpy slouch – from the toddlers to the grandparents – every person was always happy at Golden Ridge, and that’s a beautiful thing because it’s rare she sees that form of purity these days. She doesn’t feel connected to that era. It’s almost as if those days at Golden Ridge are a long ago tale, aptly starting with the words, “Once upon a time…” Were those days real? Or was it all a fantasy?

Jalapeño Apricot Butter. Would you ever find that at a grocery store? No. But at Golden Ridge? Yes. Bennie was always amazed by the assortment of goods that the farmers would make from the harvest: jams, butters, oils, lotions, pies, donuts, cakes, crumbles, cookies, muffins, caramel apples, dried apples, juices, ciders…

The cider – that’s what it was. The cider always had cinnamon in it. Cinnamon was in almost all of the apple goods… When Bennie smells the cinnamon on her fingers, it’s not just a pleasant aroma, but a journey. To a time when life was simple. To a time when everything was a smile in the breeze, a taste of a jam, a selection of a pumpkin. To a time before the highlight of her week was going home on Friday evenings,  curling up on the couch with her dog, and watching Netflix, sipping merlot.

She misses that. But is it youth she misses? Or the happiness that didn’t need an explanation. The happiness that flowed like water from the tap.

______

To: James Whitley

Subject: GMO Article

Hey James,

Here’s the article. Giving you a heads up, I’m not feeling well so I’m going to take off for the rest of the day. I’ll keep in touch though. Let me know if there are any fixes I need to make before publishing.

Hopefully I’ll be in tomorrow.

Best,

Bennie

 

_______

Bennie got in her car, and drove. She needs to pay a visit to childhood.