2.34 Figs and Cinnamon (1)

Estel POV

Figs and cinnamon. I used to love the smell of figs and cinnamon. That was the smell of my childhood kitchen at the beginning of fall every year. Grandma would be preserving figs, stocking them after harvesting from the trees her mate planted when they migrated here soon after their marriage.

My grandma said before coming to America, they would talk about what their dreams were for their new home. They wanted wide open spaces, where grandma could grow a big garden with every type of fruit and vegetable you could imagine. Grandpa made sure to give her her dream, planting all kinds of trees and crops, then ensuring she had a sizable garden near the house he built for her too.

Unlike my father, who was a warrior in a neighboring pack, my grandpa was happy with the life of a farmer. He contributed to Setting Sun with his crops, delivering fresh produce, eggs, milk and freshly churned butter daily.

My mom came of age, and started to help by doing the deliveries, and that was