There are so many stories untold in this image. Or waiting to be told? Here's a beginning. My mother grew up dirt poor in a dirt poor town in West Texas. She had been deprived during her upbringing of what she always deemed the "exotic" fruits--kiwis, pomegranates, cherries, etc. Even a navel orange, to her, had been a rare treat. And as I grew up, she took very special care to pick out these elusive fruits for me at the market, ever expanding my tastes in her quest to introduce me to that which she hadn't had. Even at Christmas, my hand-crocheted stocking was always filled with the largest, ripest most pristine oranges and apples she could find and mingled with a variety of un-shelled walnuts, Brazil nuts, hazelnuts, and pecans. She always wanted for me what she didn't have herself, and I'm reminded this in every corner of my life, every aspect, every sweet fruit from far-off lands.