The Value of Pecans

It was four days 'til Christmas, and I was running around town filling sausage orders, filing taxes at the court house before it closed for the holidays, and helping clean up after our annual "Christmas in a Small Town" (our community Christmas musical). Granddad wanted me to "quickly" run by their house in Highland Park to pick up some tools for a hay shed repair.

Grandmere and Grandad were waiting excitedly on the back step of the garage with the door already pulled in anticipation of my arrival. I see them frequently, yet every time it feels like they are seeing me for the first time since I moved back to the States. (It's actually kinda cute.) They both waddled up to the car as I shut off the engine. Granddad had 6 greasy bolts in his gnarly hand and was pointing to the other tools lying in a box underneath his guarded garage. Grandmere was trying to steal a kiss on my cheek as she discreetly assessed the garb I had chosen to wear to work. I opened the back of my vehicle to store the greasy bolts in a bucket and out poured half-shelled pecans, from my hatch and down the steep drive!

"Whoohoohooooo!" little Dottie exclaimed. Then, the unexpected and almost miraculous occurred. My Grandmother (who typically carries a cane) jetted off lightening fast, and kicked up her feet to stop the pecans from rolling down the hill.

I stood there stunned. I turned around to catch the pecans, and there was my Grandfather maneuvering his body against the back end of my car with his knees touching the ground.

Was I missing something?! Were these pecan shells actually encasing gold nuggets and I was completely unaware?! I was able to quickly stop the waterfall of nuts with my eager army of reinforcements. "Where did you get all of these pecans, Honey?" My sure-footed granny asked as she returned, arms full of nuts. Granddad immediately fell into a VERY thorough explanation of how big these particular pecans are, and how he tried to plant many pecan trees in the Bent that were supposed to bear large pecans like "this here pecan."

Without missing a beat, he threw a few below his feet and gently cracked them, in such a way that the halves popped out just perfectly.

The three of us stood there huddled behind my car, in a seemingly unbreakable moment...just munching on this edible nuggets.

It was then that I realized I had underestimated the value of this gift. The gift from a client who generously gave me a half-bushel of locally picked pecans. And more importantly, the gift from my grandparents who taught me the value of a fresh, sweet, seasonal pecan.

To waste not is to want not, right?

..and then I lost about half of those pecans to some dear grandparents who decided that they wanted to spend the rest of the day cracking nuts.

At least I got to see my grandmother run. Or, as I like to call it? The Dottie Shuffle.