There’s no taste like home

Recently, I inadvertently sent my son contraband. The custom officials confiscated the forbidden goods, but I’m certain they didn’t just toss it away, unless it was while tossing a nice green salad—a nice big and expensive salad.

I was trying to give our youngest a little taste of home—home, home on the ranch. He’s in Australia for a semester and won’t be back until the end of July. Needless to say, he’s having the time of his life, but once in awhile he gets a twinge of homesickness. Not so much for us folks back home, but for the flavor of home. When I spoke with him a few weeks back, he said he was missing Mexican food—more specifically, salsa and tortillas. Then he said he was missing his favorite salad dressing—Ranch dressing. As his birthday was coming up (and Easter), I decided to send him a care package...knowing it would be expensive. I justified the cost by telling myself that at least he would eat a few greens with his Fosters.

So off my husband and I went to my not-so-favorite (still carrying coffins at the exit) warehouse store. We bought the big (jumbo) two-pack of Ranch dressing and the gigantic container of salsa. The gigantic salsa container weighed five pounds. Next, we stopped by UPS and asked about the shipping. They weighed the Salsa, which was less than the two Ranch Dressing bottles. It would be almost a hundred bucks for the salsa alone. I added canned Ortega chilies and flour and corn tortillas, as well as Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and a variety of Easter candies—and of course the seven pounds of Ranch dressing. Total charge out the door—$165. As I signed the credit card receipt, I rationalized once more that it was our boys 21^st birthday—and the first time we’ve been away from him for so long. In other words, it was worth it.

Both my husband and I felt a parental sense of satisfaction as the clerk labeled the box and readied it for shipping. We also included a generous check in his birthday card. All in all, it was a costly day. But we smiled as we drove back home…anticipating the pleasure our boy would receive from every bite of salsa and Ranch dressing over the next four months.

Skip forward eight days. When we heard from our young wanderer that the package had arrived and that he’d already plowed through a substantial amount of chocolate and salsa, I asked about the Ranch dressing. He hesitated and then said he hadn’t made a salad yet. When I asked if everything arrived in good condition, he responded in the affirmative, but didn’t elaborate. This was not like him. He’s not the yes, no, or maybe son who takes after his father…he’s my storyteller. Finally, I asked if he was feeling okay. When he said he was, I patiently remained quiet, waiting for more—as I’ve learned to do with him. Finally, he fessed up and told me an interesting story.

It seems as if Australia has some of the most stringent custom laws in the world. I broke an importing regulation and then unwittingly led them straight to the contraband. The culprit was eggs. I didn’t send any eggs, unless you count the Cadbury chocolate eggs I included at the last minute. However, I did send two gigundo bottles of Ranch dressing that cost at least $65 in postage costs alone. The eggs in the processed dressing are a no-no. I wryly thought of the day I sent the package and the clerk at UPS helped pack it up. He laughed at the big bottles of dressing, and then told me to be sure to include a detailed list of all contents on the custom’s paperwork that was later attached to the box. The clerk was the expert, or so I thought. I did what he asked. I listed processed salsa, processed salad dressing, and miscellaneous Easter candies. My big X marked the spot. Now I know "what can Brown do for you."

Yes, I admit that I felt bad my son didn’t get to enjoy the costly dressing. But then he very maturely, and respectfully, explained that Australia is a very healthy country—they work hard to keep it that way, and they have certain custom rules he wasn’t aware of when he asked that I send the dressing. I could tell he was worried that I was upset at the cost of sending something he didn’t receive…and something he asked me to send. But I wasn’t upset with him, or Australia. I was a bit miffed that the UPS clerk didn’t know better, and didn’t advise me not to send the dressing. Mostly though, I was upset with myself for not thinking of just sending lightweight packets of the dried mix and telling our son to read the directions and buy the buttermilk at his local market.

Later, as I was relating this story to a friend, I had another thought…and I laughed. And this is the story I'm sticking to. I’m actually happy the custom officials confiscated the contraband. And no, I’ll not send our boy any of the dried packets of Ranch mix either. Everything worked out just right. It was an expensive lesson, but one I’ll not soon forget as both my boys continue to mature and wander the world. You see, Dorothy had it right. Whether it’s Kansas, California, or Australia, there’s really no place—and no taste—like home. If our bambinos can readily find the flavor of home they crave from a gigundo shatterproof bottle of dressing from their local warehouse store, what will bring them back home to our doorstep? What will bring them back home to the ranch? Even if just for a quick visit. Now, I wonder if there are any restrictions on shipping shoes to Australia. Think I'll check with Fed Ex this time. Ruby slippers anyone?

© 2007 Teresa G. Franta