foraging pecans in the vortex of weird

A strong wind began blowing late last night and throughout this morning. From looking at the pecan trees over the past few weeks, I knew that there would be a good chance that the nut casings were dry enough that the trees would start raining down seeds. As the wind kept blowing I hopped on my bicycle to hit the usual spots.

The first few trees I looked under were hit and miss, but I started to find a few good spots. I noticed other folks out with the same intentions of foraging, and chocked up the dearth of nuts in some areas to them beating me there. In the well traveled areas I saw a father with his two little girls going after the nuts under some trees at the elementary school. Some older women were hitting the trees at a church. I went behind them and managed to pick up a few pounds anyway.

I brought home what I had, ate some lunch, then headed out to my old neighborhood where I was sure to find more people picking up nuts but also more trees – plenty for everyone. When I rolled up to a tree near an old gas station, things started getting weird.

An old woman came up to the tree with a cardboard box. We exchanged quick greetings, discussed the weather and then began racing to see who could gather the pecans before the other. In the middle of all our bending down, the woman yelled my way then starting walking towards me. She insisted on telling me that she left her teeth in the car and showed me her toothless mouth. Sensing that this was her way of letting me know that she needed the nuts more than I did, I packed what I had gathered in my backpack and thought about where to go next. While I was getting ready to go she told me about all the old trees she used to pick under and how they were mostly off limits now, either because they were now fenced in or cut down because of disease or development.

At that point a guy on a bike stopped quickly in the parking lot beside me. I jokingly told him that it seemed like everybody had the same idea about this gas station tree. He said he had another idea, a “bad idea” and kept saying that he wished he didn’t have to do it. He reached into his pocket and I immediately knew what he meant. My stomach sank and my heart began to beat with some ferocity. He wanted my wallet and my bike. Before I knew what was happening I was pedaling across the parking lot making like I hadn’t heard what he said. He didn’t follow me, instead turning the other direction and pedaling quickly out of sight. The old woman was gone as well.

I chilled out for a minute in order to make sure he wasn’t coming back. I continued to pick up nuts across the street from the parking lot, scanning the streets in all directions. When I was satisfied he was no longer interested in me, I headed the opposite direction.

It gets weirder… While in an alley I was squirted with a squirt gun by a middle aged woman. She was laughing while she did it, and never asked me to leave or stop picking up nuts. She just thought it would be funny to spray this guy who was bent over in the alleyway. Time to move on.

I went into another alley. A couple of women were sitting on their back porch smoking cigarettes. They invited me to come into the yard and pick up as many pecans as I wanted. The yard was loaded, the most pecans I had seen in a long time. They were small but there were more than I could pick up in a full day of work. They engaged me in conversation the entire time, asking me where I worked and such. They asked that I bring some veggies in exchange for the pecans, and I let them know that I would bring them a jar of apple sauce after I left their yard. At that point they both got up and insisted on singing me a song. They locked arms and started a small routine to an old jazz or blues tune.

They sang pretty well, but it was unnerving. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be saying or even if I was supposed to be paying attention. As they continued, gunshots from a few blocks away crackled in the air. Their song and my foraging continued without pause. The gunshots were too familiar to all of us I guess, and that is what made it all so incredibly weird; we didn’t stop and ponder what was going on. Around the time the sixth police car flew by I figured it was time to go.

When I had two full bags of pecans I told them again that I would bring them a jar of applesauce. I biked home, grabbed the sauce and went back. Their back door was wide open, the television muted and flickering near the window. I yelled inside. They quickly came and accepted the jar of cooked apples. One of them grabbed my arm and insisted that I play dice with them. I nervously sat in a stool overlooking an overturned painting that served as the dice board. They taught me some sort of casino dice game that made very little sense. I played, lost and got up to leave. One of them gave me a hug, said it was nice to meet me, enjoy the pecans, bring us some peppers or tomatoes “when you have a chance”.

I was relieved to finally get home and take stock of what I was able to pick up. It seemed to be about twenty or twenty five pounds, a pretty good haul for one day.

One very very weird day, but well worth it, if not for the pecans but for the stories that are now attached to them. The sun was setting after I dumped the bags, red clouds against the leaves of our humble backyard pecan tree. Hopefully the vortex is done spinning its weirdness for the time being, and I can get to work on shelling the bags of nuts.