Two years ago in our somewhat barren back yard, we planted a slip of a peach tree. When it budded the very next day, we took that as a favorable omen. Sure enough, this March it bloomed glorious pink and set its first fruit--funny, pea-sized fuzzballs!
I grew up in the Black Belt, not far from Chilton County, the peach capitol of Alabama. The peach orchards there perch atop the last gasp of the Appalachian Plateau, a thin spur, cloud high, on a whisper breeze that overlooks the stifling plain of my childhood.
Eating peaches was like eating sweet April sunshine. The only thing I liked better in July was a rope swing over a creek.
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