Peach Season

The rosy cheeks and perfect soft texture of the ripe peach begged me to bite into it. I rubbed off as much of the peach fuzz as I could under the running water. Then sliced off a chunk of the golden fruit.

I crushed the peach’s soft flesh between my teeth and tongue to extract the most juice. The golden sweetness ran down my throat.

There is only one word to describe the flavor and texture of a perfectly ripe peach . . .


It is impossible to buy such good peaches in most grocery stores. You have to go to an orchard. Or buy direct from one.

As a child on our farm, I never bothered to wash the fruit. We didn’t use any insecticides. Our fruit never seemed to need it.

Perhaps we had no need of insecticides because of the natural strength of the old variety we grew. Or perhaps it was because of the protective layer of peach fuzz.

When I ran out to play on our farm, I usually looked for the first ripe peach. I avoided the thirsty bees in my search and plucked the best peach.

I bit into the ripe fruit. The sweet juice squirted out the corners of my mouth and ran down my arms. (That was before I learned how to crush it between my teeth and tongue.)

Those older varieties we grew were covered with an extra thick layer of fuzz. Before I knew it, I was covered with itchy peach fuzz. It coated my hands, my arms, and my face. Between the itchiness and the stickiness, I ran for the well to wash. That itchiness was the only drawback.

Well-fortified by my sweet treat, I ran off to play. I never tired of my search for the perfect ripe peach.

A friend of mine has never tasted a peach.

What? Never tasted a fresh peach? Why not?

I hope she reads this and is inspired to visit an orchard. She’s in for a treat if she does.

What about you? Found any good peaches lately? This may be the last week of peach season. Don’t miss out.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll eat a peach. Writing this has made me hungry.

Until next time . . . Travel Light,

© 2022 SuZan Klassen. All Rights Reserved.

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