Do you ever have those nights when you're almost asleep, drifting along on thoughts that you're no longer consciously controlling and that are just this side of a dream, where frolicking in poppy fields with a silver horse you know is really the queen of England doesn't seem odd in the least bit, and then, completely unbidden, a thought rockets through it all so strong in its urgency that you're suddenly wide awake? I had that happen to me last week. With dire urgency, I realized, It's the middle of July and I've had only one peach this summer!
Now this doesn't seem like the sort of thing to wake one's self up over, but I love peaches. Not just any peach, either. They have to be fresh (read local). Peaches are rather tricky fruit. Unlike many that can be picked unripe and shipped from all corners of the globe with equal success, a peach picked too soon and sold partially unripe is quite a letdown. You've purchased and carried home and looked forward to this fruit, only to bite into it and get paltry flavor, pithy innards, or worst, an apple-like consistency. Hence, the short summer window to get delicious peaches picked locally, fresh and juicy, with a little give in the skin at the time of purchase and a need to be eaten within a few days lest they go bad. That's a good peach.
I've had summer crushes on kiwi and strawberries before, even the occasional month fling with plums, but my longtime love will always be peaches. (Peach margaritas are pretty tasty, too.)
Since that startling revelation, I've had at least three, and I plan to make the most of this great fruit season! (I've also done a lot of work on Madison recently, but who cares about that in light of the peach revelation?)
(Eek! I just accidentally posted this on NON. Wouldn't the fans there be confused to be reading about my love of peaches rather than a debut author!)