Calabash, my origin, the place I identify with the most, the home of my great grandparents, my grandparents, and our family. A working farm in Arcadia, the name chosen for the rural area on the outskirts of Sydney by my great grandfather, first land holders in the area. An area of rich black fertile soil needed for the cultivation of citrus orchards and stone fruits. Understanding the annual cycle of farming in order to produce the optimum yield, the long hours of fruit picking, sorting, and preparing for market. The truck loaded with hundreds of wooden crates of waxed, polished, and perfectly placed oranges in their diagonal rows heading for Paddy’s market on a Sunday evening. From an aerial vantage point, the trees also stand in carefully placed diagonal rows, laden with blossom and sheltering each other from the harsh autumn breeze. Now these once orchards have been replaced by houses, the rich agricultural area now lost forever.