The Lady is a Peach
By Andrea Peck
Most peach trees are country bumpkins that sit out in the field in the sweltering heat. They have a patch of rambunctious grass around them and funny, lopsided leaves that tilt in a wayward manner. They do not stand tall and exult like an oak. They do not curve over industriously like an apple tree. They are not lush and thick like an orange tree. They drop fruit so juicy that it seems a crime in this dry state that they are allowed to exist at all. They are bright and yellow, a little flushed. They are my favorite fruit.
But, let me tell you, my tree is no happy-go-lucky country peach. This lady is a stalker all the way.
She keeps her distance during the winter. Her leaves have fallen; she is skeletal like a 1980's fashion model. I look out my kitchen window and I have to remind myself that she is there. But, trust me, she is there.
During the spring, she gathers herself up like gloved hands on a Victorian dress and begins her advance. She is impertinent. Her branches, feathered in green, stretch closer and I wonder if she is coming in. On days when I've had too many cups of coffee, a sideways glance in that direction makes me think she has breached the window.
Soon, as summer hits full boar, she will begin throwing peaches at the family. Why pick them? She will let us know when she wants us to have them. We concede to her. One minute the peach will not come off the branch. The next it falls cleanly with a solid thump. Temperamental.
The one thing I can say about my peach tree is that she is productive and easy to care for. She is a lady through and through. My kids and I are bloated and sticky as we roll down the street looking as if we have been ruffled by a green-leaved grandmother.
We are happy.
For more information on the lovely green goddess, the peach tree, click here: