Thursday, July 20, 2017

the peach pie.

It was probably close to this exact day, only 10 years ago. 
We had seen a roadside stand selling fresh picked Michigan peaches, so we stopped. When you're camping, there's no particular rush to be anywhere anyways. 
Not long after, we were hopping back in the Suburban, a few dollars lighter. Those few dollars earned us the kind of peaches that have juice dribbling down your chin and running down your arm. The kind that make waste of all the spare napkins in the glovebox and force you to hang your arm out the window (while death gripping that peach) to let the wind wick away the sticky, sugary mess.

I thought about that summer day when I stumbled upon a small crate of peaches at the produce stand down the street from my apartment last week. These ones were from Georgia, but they looked promising so I bought one. A tester peach. As I left and struggled to evenly balance my bags on both my arms, I grabbed the peach from off the top of one of the bags. It had bumped and bruised and the juice had already started seeping out of its broken skin. Let me just say that it is always best to first wash or soak your produce (this coming from the girl who got a stomach bug from everything that first year in Mexico). That is not what happened. And a couple minutes later, my sticky hands and chin reminded me again of the Michigan peach. 

The tester peach was a success. Not knowing how long those peaches would continue reach our part of the city, I made plans to get some more. Enough for a cobbler - two cobblers, actually. And enough for a peach pie. Enough to share a taste of summer and enough to share memories and make new memories with some friends. 

I forgot how long pies take to make - especially when you choose to make a finicky butter crust (but the peaches seemed worthy of it). 
So that's how I spent my day. And in the evening, I walked a couple blocks down the street to Karla's house for our Thursday night Bible study, pie in hands. 
Ice cream on top. Tea on the side. All my favorite girls around me. 

I walked home with an empty pie dish. Always a good sign. 

Now, I have to check on those peach popsicles in the freezer...

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