The Real Daily Nourishment

Margaret's arthritic fingers trembled slightly as she peeled the orange, the citrus scent filling her small kitchen like an unexpected guest from the past. Sarah, her seventeen-year-old granddaughter, sat at the worn oak table, scrolling through her phone.

"You know," Margaret said, placing the orange segments on a chipped plate, "when I was your age, we didn't have vitamin supplements. We had oranges in winter, and we were grateful."

Sarah looked up, her brow furrowed. "But Grandma, Dr. Harrison says I need more vitamin D. He recommended—"

Margaret chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound that seemed to rise from her toes. "Doctors. Always running after the newest solution, when the oldest ones work just fine."

She poured two glasses of orange juice, the pulp swirling like tiny amber galaxies. "Your grandfather and I ran a grocery store for forty-three years. Every morning at dawn, he'd unload the citrus crates while I sorted. The oranges were always the first to sell."

"That's why you always have them," Sarah said softly, setting down her phone.

"That's part of it." Margaret sat opposite her granddaughter. "But mostly, it's because during the hardest winter of 1974—when money was tight and your father was sick—the orange truck broke down three miles from town. Your grandpa ran all the way there in the snow, then ran back pulling a hand cart with two cases of oranges. Said we needed the vitamin C, said it would keep us healthy."

Sarah's eyes widened. "Grandpa ran three miles in the snow?"

"Ran and walked. Took him four hours." Margaret squeezed her granddaughter's hand. "But here's what the doctor never mentioned: the real vitamin wasn't in those oranges at all. It was your grandfather's love. That's what kept us healthy. That's what got us through."

She squeezed the orange slice, letting the juice drip into their glasses. "Love's the only vitamin that truly matters, Sarah. And unlike oranges, it never goes out of season."