ROADSIDE DE LIG HTS
The Orange Lady
MARIE VERDIN’S SATSUMAS BRIGHTEN HIGHWAY 24
Story and photo by Jason Vowell
Family Owned & Operated since 1966 FURNITURE, JEWELRY, SILVER, & MORE!
(225) 927-0531 • 2175 Dallas Dr., Baton Rouge, LA
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F E B 2 1 // C O U N T R Y R O A D S M A G . C O M
M
y wheels spun along the cold asphalt of state Highway 24, past shipyards and trees hanging heavy with moss when out of the corner of my eye I caught a color out of place. On this gray January morning full of dull shades, the color orange popped bright in my peripheral vision. A small grove of satsuma trees sprang out from in between swampy lagoons, the bright fruit dotting the landscape like an impressionist painting. And standing there under a small pop-up tent was a white-haired lady with bright orange lipstick, waving to the passing cars. A small, handwritten sign hanging on a folding table piled high with sweet fruit read: “Satsumas. Three dollars a bag.” I spun the steering wheel and turned my car around in a muddy lot. I could already feel my cheeks puckering at the anticipation of peeling back the loose leathery skin and popping a slice
in my mouth. As I rounded the bend, I could see the lady waving me into a gravel driveway. Quick to approach my car, she flashed a friendly smile before fumbling to put on her mask. Her name is Marie Verdin, she told me in a heavy Cajun accent. “I’m known as the Orange Lady!” Warmth radiating, she said, “I used to sell satsumas down at the farmers market, but I can’t go to the farmers market anymore. My eyes are bad. So my son and daughter-in-law pick me up in the morning and bring me to the farm to sell now.” She was soft spoken, and I could barely hear her over the roaring semi trailers barrelling down the highway full of harvested sugarcane. “So, why are you called the Orange lady?” I asked. A twinkle of mischief flashed across her face. “Because no one else can sell oranges like I can!” Her family planted the trees in
