"We were heading east from Eugene, Oregon, to see the family in Connecticut before starting a new life in Washington, D.C. Before we left, we packed one of our many suitcases with Medford pears—a Christmas present for my grandfather, who always said the best pears came from Medford. All went well until an out-of-nowhere snowstorm hit St. Louis just as we were passing through. Panicked about getting to my folks' place in Connecticut in time for Christmas dinner, we stored the car, shipped all of our stuff, and jumped on a plane. Unfortunately our shipped goods didn't arrive at my parents' until after we'd moved on to D.C. Needless to say, we forgot all about the pears, and our belongings sat patiently in my parents' garage until spring, when we returned to reclaim our goods. By then, the pears had turned the suitcase—and the garments we had so cleverly used as packing material—into something else."