A Fruit Stand Story

This is a photograph that just swells with a story.  You can tell the minute you look at it.  It is the stuff of magazine covers - a food writer's dream come true.  The story I have to tell about it, so far, is short but nonetheless needs to be told.

There is a large fruit cooperative in downtown Kelowna.  It is often where I go to buy fruit in season.  Guests of ours were craving peaches & we went there only to leave disappointed.  So, we headed home on the 97 and turned off on Boucherie as we often do.  There, nestled into a corner of the road as you begin your ascent up the hill, is a little produce stand flanked by the flags of several countries - one of which is Hungary.  We pulled in and parked along the fence of the horse pasture, in close proximity to the little vendor.  There, the horses were gathered, enjoying the apples, peaches, and carrots that were in generous supply from their industrious neighbours.  I asked a fellow feeding them why he just tossed the fruit in to them & didn't let them take it from his hand.  He smiled but gave no response, as if he hadn't quite understood me.

We crossed the road to the quaint make-shift sales centre & were greeted with the tender smile of  Rochelle.  We ogled over her vast array of fruits and vegetables. None of which disappointed!! I asked if I could touch the peaches, as I had been told not to at the Saturday market in downtown Kelowna.  She said, of course but not to squeeze & explained how easily you bruise a peach.  We bantered cordially as we selected our goodies & she shared how her seeds are all from Hungary.  Her husband is Hungarian but she is French Canadian, her accent still lovely on her lips.  (As was her helper at the horse fence, although not as honed in English as was she.)  Just last season, her stand & small growing operation was on Hudson but in her words, "A man bought it & wanted nothing to do with us.  He wanted us out."  They acquired this new spot on Boucherie with a parcel of land in behind the stand for growing some of the produce.  She is from Peachland where they grow all of the fruit on display.  We tasted small grapes with dark purple skin that immediately took me on a mind train somewhere way back in my childhood.  We smelled the rich aromas of fresh peaches, apples & strawberries.  The strawberries, savoured too by my friend, & coveted by my allergic self were apparently amazing.  I was left only to delight in my sensory satisfaction.   We learned of her many plums & their distinct qualities.  We only wished we could have added the yellow & green beans to our already zealous supper menu. She asked, too, of our origins, & delighted in the Hungarian connection between herself & my friend. When we exchanged names, we all laughed & rolled our "r's" together, not making light of, but delighting in her french accent.

Finally, we made our choices as pictured.  Corn, picked only moments before our arrival, new red potatoes, green onion for our salad, yellow onion to marry with the mushrooms, peaches & nectarines to dive into when we got home, a taste of apples, & a clump of grapes laid across our spoils - a perfect work of art.

Rochelle, as I inquired, will be at her stand until the end of September.  I hope to frequent there quite a few times before her fall departure.  I know there is so much more of a story behind those eyes, the tilt of her head, the pride in her work.  There is a tenderness, a Grandmother quality, that emanates off the page from that still photograph.  I am captured, somehow, in the story - the story that I don't even know.  I can only hope that in the next few weeks, as I share in the fall harvest from her bounty, that I can also glean little pieces to bring that photo even more to life.