By Brenda Eubanks Burnette
There are Christmas memories that sparkle like tinsel and some that glow warm and steady, the way sunlight filters through a grove just after dawn. For many Florida families — mine included — Christmas has always smelled faintly of citrus and tasted of oranges fresh from the tree. Before the gifts were fancy and the stockings were elaborate, there was always the orange — tucked gently into the toe of the stocking. The orange was that bright little bit of sunshine and zest that lit up the cold drab days of winter.
When I was a child, I didn’t realize how lucky I was to grow up surrounded by citrus. It was just something that was always there. We picked up rotten oranges on the ground to throw at each other in friendly play. We picked fruit from the tree and peeled it with a knife in one long shiny piece of orange peel — something everyone did, I assumed. Only later did I learn that the orange once meant something precious: a winter gift of sweetness during a time when treats were rare. When families up north looked out their windows at a world of white and gray, an orange was a small miracle — bright, fragrant and filled with sunshine from someplace far away.
Here in Florida, of course, the citrus came from our own backyards. Many of us grew up with groves down the road or a few trees standing proud behind our homes. You picked the fruit by hand, twisting the stem gently so it wouldn’t tear, or clipping it in the case of tangerines. In December, the best fruit — round, heavy and unmarred by the wind blowing through the branches — were saved for Christmas gifts and arranged carefully in baskets with brightly colored bows.
There was something ceremonial in that choosing: this one for Aunt Anne, that one for my teacher, and maybe this one for our neighbor, Mr. Whitney, whose dogs I would take care of when he and his wife went on vacation.
My dad used to tell me that when he was a kid he would get an orange in his stocking, often wrapped in brown paper, as if it were treasure — which, in a way, it was for him. He was a Midwest boy from Illinois! He said that on Christmas morning, the orange wasn’t the biggest gift. But it was the one you held longest. Pressed between your palms, it felt like the season’s true message: warmth in winter, sweetness in ordinary things, brightness shared and a promise of something to come. You peeled it slowly, releasing the scent that filled the whole room — sharp, sweet and pure. To me, dad’s description sounded crazy. But it was a memory that stayed with him for years, so it must have been that way for many Northerners.
Florida has changed. Groves that once stretched for miles have thinned or disappeared. Diseases and storms have taken their toll. Many families who once worked the groves now remember them only in stories they tell their children. But the tradition remains — quiet and resilient, like the fruit itself.
So maybe this year, when you hang the stockings, tuck an orange in the toe. Tell the little ones why. Tell them that once, long ago, a single piece of fruit was a blessing worth celebrating. Tell them that gifts don’t have to be expensive to be meaningful. Tell them that sunshine can be shared — even in winter.
Peel your own orange, close your eyes and you just might hear the rustle of grove leaves in the December breeze and feel the warmth of a Florida Christmas — no matter where you are. May you all share in the warmth of a Florida Christmas worth remembering!
Brenda Eubanks Burnette is the former executive director of the Florida Citrus Hall of Fame and is currently president of the board of Vero Heritage, Inc., which operates The Heritage Center and Indian River Citrus Museum in Vero Beach, Florida.
Share this Post