Sunday, September 07, 2008

A Plethora of Peaches

I did a bad, bad thing.

Friday afternoon, after work, I stopped at our local farmer's market. Amid the reds of tomatoes, the deep purple globes of eggplant, and the indigo of perfect, round blueberries, there was a banker's box full of peaches.

A hand lettered sign read: $15.

These were not perfect, identical, creamy skinned peaches. No. Some had oozing patches, bruises, little bumps like acne on a teenager's face. But the scent rising from the box was summer incarnate.

I bought the box.

Lugged 20 pounds of imperfect peaches home.

Today, I canned 6 quarts of sliced peaches and had enough left over to make a huge peach cobbler. I think when I fall asleep, I will dream of peaches and the sticky mess of peach juice running down my arms.

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