Peach Fuzz

Who doesn't love a fresh ripe peach plucked straight from the tree?
But, since you can't have those year-round, these are the next best things:

bottled peaches, frozen peaches, peach jam, and peach pie (six pies made during a marathon pie-making fiasco involving my sister)

And then throw in a few of these:

dried peaches.

Seriously, what am I some kind of homemaker? ;)

Not too many days ago, I was wishing I could be rid of all these peaches. But, today, while I was making a killer fruit salad, and using up almost the last of the peaches, I was struck by an odd feeling: sadness. This is it? What will I do when I can no longer pluck a fresh peach from a heavy branch, wash it with the hose, and feel the juices running down my chin and onto the grass?

Of course, I must remember the state of my kitchen the last few weeks. Clumsiness seems to go into overdrive while I am trying to preserve fruit. Take, for example, my skill in knocking the same large, full pot of peaches into the same filled-to-the-brim-with-water sink, not once, but twice. Within about 15 seconds of each other. And I only just managed to not do it a third time. Barely.

The floor has also definitely seen better days. Spilling a nearly full pot of hot water-and-sugar syrup on it might have contributed to the squelching noises heard each time we lifted our feet. We ended up with every rag in the house on the floor.

Oh, and then there was the jam-in-the-hair incident. Does that really need explaining?

But, despite the boxes, buckets, and bowls of peaches that were until very recently sprawling all over my kitchen (which, btw, is no exaggeration) and the horribly sticky coating decorating the floor, I still feel a slight pang of sorrow to see them go.

So I saved two :)