September 4, 2013
Buon National Peach Month
Well it’s peach month and in celebration I ate an awful peach today. Well, I didn’t have the intention of eating an awful peach…it just wasn’t very good. It wasn’t nearly slimy, or soft, or drip down your chin enough for me. I want peaches so ripe that you pick them up and you leave finger dents, so tender that you can pop the pit right out of the middle so it leaves the perfect ridges and valleys in the dark orange flesh, so fresh that they are still warm from the late afternoon sun. There’s no graceful way to eat a ripe peach. Basically, if it wasn’t picked in a peach orchard in Memphis with good friends, then I will be disappointed. That’s the problem with having the greatest things in life… everything else is a little subpar.
There are some memories that are so very clear, that have been made more perfect with time. Every time I travel down that well-worn path in my brain it’s like seeing a familiar face in a crowd. A day in August spent in a peach orchard is a well-worn memory. After camp, one summer, a bunch of us went to Memphis and stayed with Hayley’s grandma. It was delightful. Good eating, great friends, belly-laughs…..and peach-picking! That day was warm and humid. The golden hour was approaching and the shadows were getting longer. The rows of trees spread out in even rows in every direction. The air was humming with iridescent dragonflies and lazy bumblebees. I have never eaten so many peaches in one day. Sticky and smiling we made our way through the orchard picking and eating and picking some more.