I know for certain that dreams of pecans can keep you awake at night. Dreams of unshelled nuts in bushel baskets, cracked pecans in buckets, the smell of cinnamon rolls baking in the oven. In my dreams I can see the crispy sugary nut halves settled in the surface of a pie, taste the warm buttery sweetness of the custard underneath, see puddles of pralines drying on a sheet of waxed paper.
Then there are dreams southern antebellum like aisles of arching branches. These are the dreams I have of the pecan orchard. My husband has his own style of dream.
He dreams of trees laden with clusters of green nut hulls. He dreams of a rain of pecans falling under each tree, and he dreams of his work finding God’s timing and buckets and baskets and bags of clean beautiful product to carry to market.
He also has a dream wintery evenings of sitting in his recliner cracking a pan full of nuts for me whenever I want them for cooking up something wonderful. With a fire crackling and bright in the woodstove, he enjoys the staccato cracks and pops of the nut shells.
A dream often takes much longer than you expect to show up at the front door. Some dreams take so much work and seem so far away as to be impossible. Some dreams with plenty of prayer and elbow grease come true!