peaches and summer

I’m not sure there’s one fruit that says “summer” more than another for me, but if I had to pick one, it would probably be peaches. If you've ever scrolled to the bottom of this page, you've seen a photo with lots of jars of peach preserves. Plain peach preserves, blackberry-peach preserves, raspberry-peach preserves, and whatever other recipes I cooked up to use a bushel of peaches; I can't even remember all the variations I tried. I do know that, when I opened a jar, the fruity taste evoked fireflies, warm summer nights, gardens, and time in the kitchen. And a bit more.

When I was growing up in the Midwest we often went back to mom's home state, South Carolina, and spent many summer vacations on Edisto Island. As they got older, Edisto became an annual pilgrimage for my parents. Certain rituals were part of the trip back to Indiana: Find Duke's Mayonnaise and bring back a case. Bring home a cooler full of island shrimp.

And before getting far from the island, stop at a roadside stand and get freshly picked, tree-ripened peaches and bring back several half-bushel baskets. They were very ripe and had to be eaten soon after arriving back in Indiana; neighbors and friends looked forward to getting a few each year. Because I lived nearby, for several years I was the happy recipient of many of those peaches. I ate them, froze them, baked with them, cooked with them -- and yes, preserved with them.

The last few years there haven't been any peaches -- now that dad is gone (still miss you, dad!) the annual trip has been off. It's hard to find peaches as good as tree-ripened ones. They have them in the Northwest but last year I left there before the peach season started, and I arrived in Texas after the season in that part of the country was over. I didn't get a single peach all summer.

This year, I did't want to let that happen again, so I've been looking and waiting. Some peaches from who-knows-where appeared at the grocery about a month ago but they were hard and had no aroma. Forget them. Georgia peaches came in, and they looked good, but they also were hard and had no scent. No sale.

Then last week I stopped in a local produce market to get berries. My eye landed on quarts and pecks of gold and rosy peaches. They looked good, but I know how deceiving looks are. Even when I saw the sign I was skeptical: "S. Carolina Peaches." I picked one up; firm but not rock-hard. Good start.

And then I caught a whiff, and brought the peach closer to my face and inhaled. The aroma was there: not powerful, but sweet and fruity and full.

I'm now the proud owner of a peck of South Carolina peaches. They may not be tree-ripened, but they weren’t picked green, and the sweet, juicy fruits are packed with peach flavor. Just a bite brings back memories of past summers, long trips in the car, warm breezes on bare shoulders, the fragrance of peaches simmering on the stove while I wash jars. Not sure what will happen to all of this peck but some will go in a pie or cobbler. Some will go into a compote to have on almond cornmeal cake.

And I'll slice some and have them with vanilla ice cream for you, dad.

Cook, eat, dance, love!