peaches

We have a peach tree right next to our deck, by the kitchen window. It provides privacy in the summer, blossoms in the spring, peaches in the fall and something to look at in the winter. There is nothing I don't love about the tree. (The apple tree is another story. I'm sure his mother loved him.) 

A couple years ago, when we first moved in we harvested two buckets of teeny peaches. It was a scrawny tree. But it's grown so much, and this year we got four large buckets of genuine, full-sized peaches. I wanted to let as many of them grow to as-perfectly-ripe-as-possible, but we've had so many windstorms lately, that several of the biggest, most delicious looking fruits dropped on the ground. So, Steve, Robs and I picked the remaining peaches. Robs loved it, and talked about how we'd be 'real farmers' once we replanted these peach seeds and made a real sized orchard. And then I saw glittering stars in her eyes, thinking about the fruit stand she could run. (She spent several days this summer selling otter-pops, lemonade-stand style.)

I love my wee entrepreneur.