Every Thanksgiving (in the U.S., fourth Thursday in November) my parents took us to another town an hour away to feast with family friends. And every Thanksgiving my mom would rave about the hostess’s salad, a concoction of lettuce, nuts and….. (drumroll) pomegranates. My mom gushed over those pomegranates every (yeah, red, bold, underlined, and italicized) year. My mother's enthusiasm remained a mystery--I didn’t get it. Sitting in front of me was a salad containing maybe five little grains with barely a hint of red. MY description would have been “crunchy and bitter.” However, the meal was always exceptional despite the pomegranates and the company was good.
But I must have been scarred by those pomegranates (or my mom's raving) for I have compensated. My garden now contains a small orchard of REAL pomegranates. Allow me to show you my fruit:
And the grains. Note the lovely color, the deep, ruby red--ahhhhhhh.
Need I add that they are sweet?
Pomegranates have temporarily taken over my artwork as well.
This is a work-in-progress, part of a much larger piece that began as a sketching-on-fabric project, which quickly got out of hand and multiplied.
My holiday wishes for all: May you enjoy the company of loved ones, may your turkey be plump and tender, and may you taste pomegranates that are red, juicy, and sweet.