Ah, the memories of growing up in the land of abundant fruits and vegetables. It was like living in a produce paradise, with a dash of suburban wisdom from dear old dad. My father’s economic mantras echoed in my ears daily. “I don’t own stock in the electric company,” he’d say, as if it were a secret Wall Street tip. “There are starving children around the world who would eat that,” he’d chime in, whenever I contemplated leaving a single crumb on my plate. And then, there was the classic, “money doesn’t grow on trees.” Oh, but little did he know…

Nestled just north of Sacramento, our neighborhood was a quirky mix of Spielberg-esque suburban blocks and sprawling farmland. We had our own mini Eden in our backyard. From radishes to carrots, and tomatoes to zucchinis, our garden was a year-round cornucopia. But what made our neighborhood truly exceptional were the fruit trees that graced the yards of our neighbors. Oranges, lemons, limes, grapefruits, apples, pears – they were like nature’s gift baskets. It was customary for the adults to hand me a bag of ripe, succulent fruit when I left their homes after a day of play.

Then, the Hall family moved in, introducing a whole new level of deliciousness into my life. I had a thing for avocados, and so did my parents. Once a week, when they were in season, we’d enjoy a whole avocado split open and adorned with red wine vinegar, salt, and pepper. It was a gourmet experience my parents referred to as both an appetizer and a salad, while I thought it was pure heaven on a plate.

After my first playdate at the Halls’, Mrs. Hall did something that still makes me smile to this day. As I was about to leave, she handed me a bag of avocados, not just a few, mind you, but a whopping two dozen green gems. That week, it was an avocado extravaganza at our house. Avocado for dinner every night, avocado toast on a sunny Saturday morning, and a delectable guacamole and chips spread on Saturday night. Life couldn’t get much better for a young avocado aficionado.

My dad, ever the wise economist, couldn’t believe his luck. “Avocados are so expensive,” he marveled. “Having a neighbor like this is a windfall!” That’s when my youthful exuberance bubbled up, and I couldn’t help but quip, “I know you say money doesn’t grow on trees, Dad, but avocados do!” We both had a good laugh, and I had another avocado.

As I reflect on those days, I can’t help but miss the days of free bags of avocados and the delicious abundance of my childhood. In Plymouth, Massachusetts, avocados are a rare treasure I can only find at the grocery store. But hey, they say you can’t truly appreciate something until it’s gone. And let me tell you, I appreciate the creamy goodness of avocados now more than ever.

So, for all you avocado enthusiasts out there, check out our All About Avocados Gardening Guide. You’ll find everything you need to know about growing this green treasure and some scrumptious recipes. As for me, I’ll keep cherishing the memories of my neighborhood, where money might not grow on trees, but avocados certainly did.

Do you have any fond childhood memories of living in an abundant natural food forest? Share your story below.