Jamie and I spent the afternoon on Thursday cutting up tropical fruit to put in the dehydrator – carambolas, black sapote, passionfruit – Margie’s “fruits of summer” mix. Cute, right? Yes. But perhaps much better in the heat. Today, our fingers got so cold while cutting the slippery chilled fruit that we made a little warm tea bath for finger dipping, and would periodically leave our station to stand hunched over the humming dehydrator, frozen hands pressed against the warm metal shell.

In fact, we’ve been pretty cold all week down here, waddling around the farm in hats and mittens and many layers of shirts and pants. At night, we make mad soup and hang around the fire pit at night, burning old pallets and bean crates and talking
about the cold. This ain’t supposed to happen in southern florida. I am from the north, I understand the winter, but I left my down jacket and insulated overalls at home. This is, after all, the land of alligators and palm trees. Margie says it’s the cold snap of the
decade. I believe it.

From the roof of the box truck, looking out over the neighbor’s avocado grove, 5:50 pm.