The Strawbery Ice Cream Tree

by Mary Vee

It is said good things don’t grow on trees, especially ice cream…

Once upon a time, or maybe it wasn’t that long ago, Fraisette’s great, great grandmother gave her a small pouch for her birthday. “Keep this for a rainy day.”

 Fraisette opened the pouch and found beneath layers of wrapping, a single seed. “What is this?”

Years of lines creasing great, great grandmother’s lips squeezed even deeper with her grin. “This, my dear, is a seed that will grow smiles.”

“What if I want more than one smile?”

“There, there, Fraisette, if you plant this at just the right time, you will see you’ll have more than you need. Use it wisely.”

The years passed and flowers grew around great, great grandmother’s gravestone. Fraisette married a kind farmer. One year, for her birthday, he gave her a garden, tilled and ready for her to plant whatever she wanted.

 She thought of the one seed but decided to save it for planting at a time when smiles were scarce. For now, her life on the farm with her wonderful husband produced all the smiles she could desire.

 Not many years passed before her twin boys, grew old enough to help in the fields. As babes in her arms, she’d showed them the first sprouts poking through the earth, then as three-year-olds, she taught them to pull the weeds crowding roots from the good crops. Over the years, the boys, though, refused to help their parents. They ran back to the house and played their games.

 At harvest time, Fraisette showed the boys the fruit of the farm. They ate like wolves and demanded more.

 She worked every ounce of patience with her sons, and seeing nothing worked, she went to a small jewelry box hidden in her dresser, opened it, and removed the single seed.

 The wind carried the scent of bitter cold when she stepped outside. Fraisette shivered in her warmest winter coat and walked out to her strawberry garden that had faithfully produces the county’s best fruit. In the farthest corner, she dug a small hole, gently placed great, great grandmother’s seed at the bottom, and smoothed the dirt over it. Water tumbled from her watering can, moistening the earth.

 The winter delivered an unusual thick blanket of snow on the farm. In their wood heated home, Fraisette stretched last year’s harvest to feed her family, mended clothes, and kept the home clean while her husband cared for the animals. Their sons, though, refused to help in any way.

 Spring came and the strawberry plants flourished. Their green leaves grew larger than ever ready to produce the biggest and best fruits by the middle of June.

At the corner of the garden a tree grew as tall as her. How had it grown so tall over one season? The bark had a reddish hew. She laughed, thinking the strawberry plants gave it color. The buds were round and pink. When she touched them they felt cold. Very cold. Like ice.

 Every day that season, Fraisette attempted to get her sons to help in the fields. Every day they refused.

 Her garden produced huge, juicy strawberries that year, earning more money than ever. At the end of an especially hot day, she walked to the tree, plucked red fruit, and tasted it. Creamy strawberry sweetness flowed into her mouth, like ice cream. She took another bite and tasted the goodness again.

 Wanting to share the fruit she called her husband and sons. “Come and taste the fruit of this tree!”

 Her husband left the barn and joined her. He reached for a higher branch and plucked red fruit. “How strange. This is ice cold.” He tasted the fruit. “Oh my. Mmmm. This is the same strawberry goodness my dad used to make with homemade ice cream.” He savored another bite.

 Their sons ran to the tree, curious what their parents ate. They jumped at the branches, plucked their own fruit, and greedily shoved it into their mouths. Instantly, their eyes and mouths scrunched. They spit out the fruit. “This tastes disgusting!”

 “How can that be?” asked Fraisette. “You like strawberries.” She picked two more pieces of fruit from the tree and handed it to them.

 They reluctantly took a piece and tasted it. The boys looked at each other. “Mmm This isn’t what we tasted.” They greedily picked more from the tree, shoved it in their mouths, and again tasted the same despicable, nasty flavor.

 Fraisette and her husband tested the tree by once more picking fruit and handed a single piece to each boy. The eyes brightened and they savored the delicious strawberry ice cream flavor. How strange.

 That night the boys changed their minds about helping their parents. For the rest of the season, they tended to the crops and helped with the animals. At the end of each day, they stopped by the tree and plucked rich, creamy tasting strawberry ice cream fruit.

 At first, they picked more than one piece at a time and found the same nasty taste in the second piece.

 From that day forward, the boys seemed to enjoy their work, especially when the ice cream tree produced other ice cream trees with flavors of orange sherbet, pistachio, and chocolate.

 When the boys turned fourteen, they started their own business, delivering fruit to children in the city. Not surprisingly, some children thought the fruit tasted terrible while other children savored the sweet, creamy goodness.

 Fraisette saved seeds from the tree and wrapped them in a little box. She gave one to each of the great, great grandchildren.