Avocado Magic

God kissed Fallbrook, California.

That’s what the residents will tell you. So it only makes sense that angels like to frequent the area. The heavenly visitors come to Fallbrook with a great affinity for its friendly, kind, angelic like inhabitants. The folks in this rural community lovingly tend to the lush groves and peaceful orchids among the gently rolling hills of their emerald paradise. And the land returns the love.

The angels come to watch, observe, learn and on occasion help these most deserving people.

Lance Rutter and his two children Maura-Jean and Billy live on an avocado farm in Fallbrook located in Northern San Diego County off Highway 15 just west of Duke Snyder Road.

It is evening with a clear sky in late September. Lance is standing in a lighted area on a mound of dirt exactly sixty feet and six inches from a scarecrow with a baseball bat who is standing on the right side of a handmade wooden home plate in front of a few bales of hay. He is staring down the scarecrow the family calls Russell and shaking off signs. His two children are watching.

“Why are you throwing avocado pits instead of baseballs, Dad?” Maura, Lances’s twelve year old daughter asked.

“The only baseball I found was half eaten by mice. The only thing I could throw is a sinker. They must have eaten the top half of the baseball.”

“Star bright make a wish tonight,” Billy, Lances six year old boy said. The darkened sky was full of activity as the Delta Aurigids meteor shower was performing this evening.

“Why don’t you just buy some new baseballs?” Maura asked.

“Not so fast there,” Lance said. “Baseballs cost money and we got to be careful with our money. The good Lord has blessed us over time with this bountiful land, but for the last couple of years we haven’t made any money. The land is going through a cleansing I think. The drought and fires hurt us bad.”

“Wouldn’t too much rain be more like a cleansing?” Maura asked.

“Ugh...This is more like a dry cleaning,” Lance said. “Although I got to admit I made some mistakes...with the banks, the fertilizer, tryin’ to manage this farm. Your mother did all that, it was easy for her. I don’t have your mother’s brain. May she rest in peace. That woman was a saint. And smart.”

“You’re doing all right, Daddy,” Maura said. “I know it’s not easy.”

Lance wound up, displaying the form he had when he started as a promising pitcher for the Albuquerque Isotopes, a minor league baseball team affiliated with the Los Angeles Dodgers. He was on injured reserve now. He nodded his head approving the pitch selection from the imaginary catcher and delivered a breaking avocado pit that caught the corner of the plate.

“Strike one,” Billy proclaimed acting like a four foot umpire.

“Dad, that was pretty good,” Maura said. “What’s goin’ on, why are you out here tonight?”

“Well,” Lance took a deep breath, “Joe Torre called the other day. Joe’s’ currently the Dodgers manager, he was the pitching coach when I first signed with the Isotopes.”

“I thought Joe Torre was the New York Yankees manager, Dad,” Maura said. “Didn’t he win a lot of World Series for them.”

“Yes he did. Fine man. Great manager.”

Lance cupped the pit with both hands, turning it like a real baseball as his fingers gripped the imaginary threads and threw another one.

“Strike two,” Billy said.

“Then why did the Yankees fire Joe Torre?” Maura asked.

Lance scratched his head. “I guess because he won so much George Steinbrenner wanted to give someone else a chance.”

His daughter didn’t seem satisfied with the answer. “That doesn’t make much sense,” she said.

With a grin, Lance continued his story. “Anyway, Joe Torre tells me the other day the Dodgers may need a right handed pitcher with a good breaking ball. They have a lot of injuries and they started to look for someone.”

“That’s fantastic, Dad,” Maura said.

Lance shook off several signs that weren’t there to start with and delivered an avocado pit that looked liked it would hit Russell but caught the corner of the plate.

“Very nice pitch, Dad!” Maura said.

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