Peaches

Last night I meant to post a pleasant, happy memory; but the story that flowed was a sad one. So I'll try again.

When we would drive down to Florida with my grandparents, we usually took the road less traveled. While Dad preferred to go down I95; Grandma & Grandpa preferred to meander down the east coast. We took back roads, or roads that used to be the highway before the interstate system.

In Georgia, we would stop at any one of the roadside farm stands and get peaches. My friend Patricia, now a resident of South Carolina, would like to point out that South Carolina produces more peaches than Georgia. That may be, but we always stopped in Georgia. Maybe because it was closer to Florida, so the peaches would be fresher when we got to Gram's. Grandma would buy a big basket full of peaches, and they'd make the rest of the voyage with us.

When we got to her house, she would cut up the peaches, and put them in a big bowl. Then she scooped vanilla ice cream over the peaches, and left it to melt. When the ice cream melted, we had peaches and cream. That was dessert that night. I loved the combination of the fresh peaches and the cool smooth ice cream. There were never leftovers; we ate it all that night.

I don't really care for peaches, but I love peaches and cream. Several times a summer I find myself fixing it, just for me as Erich doesn't seem to care for peaches either. This summer I've had a hard time finding great peaches. But I keep trying, and am trying again tonight. And when I take that first bite of the cool cream against the soft peach; I will be transported back to the summers of my childhood, sitting at Grandma's big dining room table drinking from the red cups. I am so tan my skin is a deep brown, and young enough to not care if I'm running around in just my underwear. Grandma & Grandpa are sitting there, and I haven't a care in the world.