Orange Juice
Nothing says holidays to a Valley native (the RGV, that is) more than a sip of freshly squeezed orange or grapefruit juice. Jake and I share holiday memories that reach back to gnarled, work-worn hands handing a beautiful orange jug through a mud-encrusted pickup truck window. It would land in the hands of a barefoot, wild-haired farm child, and we would be told to “take it to Momma”, who would ration it out. Drinking that candy-sweet juice from vintage “partridge in a pear tree” glasses, singing at the top of our lungs, trying not to spill a mug of it while opening gifts—and of course, mixing it into champagne at holiday bridal showers—these are the memories we hold close.
Generations of grandparents on both sides of our family owned groves and kept the juice tradition alive. I can still hear the hum of Grandfather “Blue’s” little electric juicer, the backdrop to Thanksgiving chatter while warm holiday aromas filled that cozy home in Weslaco. Later, as a young adult, I worked the phones, shipping grapefruit across the country as holiday gifts. On my breaks, I’d guzzle juice by the paper cupful, fresh from the juicer in the packing shed of my grandfather “Papa Bear’s” dear friend.
Jake has similar memories of that heavenly, Fruit Loop-like scent filling the air as he, his father, and “D-dad” ran citrus through the brush lines. Juice dripped down their chins as they all overindulged in that exquisite flavor—a taste so rich, and so nostalgic.
But over the years, our Valley has changed. Beloved grandfathers in the community have passed or retired. Freezes have killed trees. Groves have been sold off to make way for building complexes. Now, water restrictions threaten the Valley citrus industry as a whole. The fresh juice that once awaited around every corner has become rare—almost extinct.
It was heartbreaking to hear when one of the last small groves still producing juice sold out to development. None of us can blame them—farming is hard work, often with slim profit margins, and some years there’s almost none at all. But still, it hurt to say goodbye. Jake called several times, hoping we might buy their juicing machine. We imagined, just maybe, being able to afford it, finding a spot to store it, and somehow rounding up help for the labor of juicing, bottling, and distributing. But when we finally connected with them, they told us the new owner planned to keep it. So, sadly, we let go of that pipe dream.
Then, weeks later, while scrolling through Facebook at bedtime (a habit I know I need to kick), I stumbled across an ad for their final sell-out sale of leftover farm equipment. I scrolled through shelves, desks, pallet lifters, a Polaris, and then—on the very last photo—there it was. It practically sparkled on the screen! I hopped out of bed and rushed to tell Jake he’d need to wake up at 6 a.m. to get there before the doors opened.
“All right,” he said with a teasing grin, “but it’s opening day of bird hunting weekend—so you’d better have my French press ready and waiting if I’m getting up early for this!” Honestly, though, I think he was more excited than I was that this long-held dream might finally be within our grasp.
The next morning, just before he headed out, I handed him a stash of cash —the sum I’d quietly saved up over the past few months—with a prayer that it would be enough. I sent him off with coffee in hand, hoping for the best. These machines, where you can drop in the whole fruit and let it handle the rest, usually run in the thousands. We were hoping for a miracle price.
I waited anxiously at home, checking my phone every few minutes. Finally, his call came through. "I got it!" he said, his excitement bursting through the line. I could practically see his smile as he added, “And it was exactly the amount you sent with me!”
We knew then that God had provided it, and now, that juicer was finally coming home. We still don’t have the labor lined up yet to help juice and bottle, but we have the machine, we have the citrus, and we’ve found a commercial kitchen willing to lease us space to keep it. The Lord will provide the rest, and we’re planning to launch in just two weeks!
Who wants fresh valley juice!!!
