Mrs. Sandy, The Jelly Lady

At the thousand-acre orchard where I worked part-time while growing up, there was a lady named Mrs. Sandy who lived in one of the tenant houses.  At the time of her husband’s death he was still working for the farm, so the owners let his widow stay in the house.

The house was old and didn’t have running water, but it did have electricity.  She cooked on an old wood-fired stove, making some of the best jams, jellies, and relishes on the planet, I imagine. The orchard let her sell them at their fruit stand.  She wasn’t charged any commission; they did it for free so she could make a little extra money. She was a really sweet old lady, everybody loved her. The truckers would stop and clean the shelves out, they adored “Mrs. Sandy the Jelly Lady”.

A new bypass was put in around the town, and at first it was a little bit confusing to some of the people.  Mrs. Sandy drove an ancient coupe car that was a very recognizable faded, chalky, pastel green.

At an all-night restaurant, the locals were there solving the world’s problems when a CB radio crackled on and a voice said, “Breaker, breaker, 1-9, you’ve got the Tomcat heading east on ol’ 3-6-0.  I just crossed the Nottoway county line and passed Mrs. Sandy the Jelly Lady.  She’s heading west in the eastbound lanes.  A couple of you 18-wheelers behind me, block eastbound traffic there at the fruit stand until she makes her turn, so she can get home safely”.  One of them crackled back, “We gotcha Tomcat, we’re blocking it right now, we’re shutting it down.”

Mrs. Sandy, who was obviously a favorite of the big-rig drivers, made it home safely that night. The people at the all-night restaurant roared with laughter, knowing that she was so famous and well-taken care of.