Seduced

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The summer before I started this novel, on a day of ninety-degree heat, two pals and I landed a Maule seaplane in a remote bay and waded ashore to explore the only chunk of high ground for many, many miles. Common sense dictated that a spot such as this would also attract snakes-pythons, in fact-but we were too busy sinking in muck and battling mosquitoes to worry about trifles.

Our intent was to photograph artifacts left by Florida’s pre-Columbian settlers, which we did, but also came away with a bag full of “wild” oranges. These were gathered off the ground because the hammock-an island, of sorts-was such a tangle of thorns and vines, we could not find the tree.

Difficult to imagine? We considered it odd, too, but not until later when we were safely home and had properly rehydrated after a dip in the pool. The oranges, freshly squeezed, helped. Never had we tasted juice like this-superbly sour yet sweet, with a lime-lemon tang. Very different from feral oranges found on islands that had once been farmed. And light-years better than pasteurized juice.

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