CHAPTER V
'TWIXT ORANGE GROVE AND SWAMP
The old Greek myth-makers sang with poetic
fervor of the golden apples of the Hesperides,
which no doubt were oranges, nor do I blame
them for their fervor. Apples they knew, and
knew, too, that nothing could be more beautiful
than an apple tree, holding its dappled fruit
bravely up to the pale October sun. But oranges
came to them out of the misty west, a region
that the setting sun set glowing with romance
each night, and then swathed in the purple evanescence
of darkness. Something of this delight
of mystery has flavored the fruit ever since, and
we taste it with mental palate before its pulp
passes the lips.
I had thought all the orange trees of northern Florida killed by the great cold of a decade ago, and so in the main they were. But there are spots on the east bank of the lower St. Johns where the miles of warm water tempered the cold somewhat, so that though the trees were cut to the ground the life in the roots remained and
