This summer has been very fruit oriented in the blog and in life, and for completion’s sake, here is the other fruit that has featured heavily for me, with picking, eating, giving away and cooking all achieved. Deirdre called me last week, or was it emailed, to say their tree was groaning with fruit and I went with my basket and picked what turned out to be a very small portion of what was there,
and then proceeded to process it in various ways. It was delicious.
There is something so luscious about a peach – the warm colour, the smell. These home grown ones were almost prickly with down on their skin. I don’t mind eating it, but some friends to whom I gave some had to peel theirs. The commercial varieties have minimized this substantially of course.
One of my favourite poems is about peaches. Here it is, in honour of Deirdre’s fruit and that of Soula and Bill, whose stone fruit I buy at the market.
by Li-Young Lee
From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted Peaches.
From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.
O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.
There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.