I'm sitting at my desk eating a large, sweet orange. (I realised I need the Vitamin C during winter, so have been eating at least one orange a day for the last 2 weeks)
As I bruised the skin and the citrus sprayed, the smell of this orange skin took me back to when I was probably around 6 or 7.
My dad knew a guy (no, not that kind of gangster guy) that had, amongst other things, an orange orchard in the Langkloof. Now if you've ever driven to PE via the Langkloof, you will know just how picturesque this area of our country is.
Every year, around June when the oranges were ripe and orange (colour) and round on the trees, we would take a day trip to the Langkloof and be able to pick oranges - as many as we liked. Actually, as many as fitted in the boot of the car! We would pick oranges, eat them as we go, fill up the boot and then head home with a very heavy car!
Mother dear would make marmalade - which I never tasted, I just didn't like the smell. And for the rest of the year we would have a gazillion bottles in all shapes and sizes of marmalade.
Good times. :)