The INDEX for our Archived 'Write To A Picture' pages is HERE.




 


Peaches

By Marilyn (LaraOct7@aol.com)


Peaches! Juice running down your chin, and oh, that delicious smell.....

Once upon a time I had a peach tree. It had grown from a seed that I had thrown out with a pan of peelings. The peaches were yellow free-stones and they were delicious. After just four years, the tree produced two bushels of peaches. I peeled them, seeded them, sliced them, and put them in the freezer. Before I froze them, I packed them in plastic containers and added a solution of water and ascorbic acid. The ascorbic acid kept them from turning brown. That December, I had peaches that so fresh-tasting it was like picking them off the tree.

When the peaches were in season I made peach cobblers and peach ice cream. Do you like peaches?

Think about the different kinds of fruit you eat. Do you have a peach story to tell, or how about a 'peach' poem? Fiction or fact, we look forward to your entry.








 


Pickin' Peaches

By Joy (JOY3032@aol.com)


The days of summer are here again
When spirits are riding high
Nothing seems to say it more
Than peaches picked in July


Off we go with baskets in hand
And walk among the rows
Looking for the ripened fruit
Hiding under the leafy bows


A dozen for the basket and one for me
Is how the picking goes
Before I know the basket is full
And back to the car we go


Our stomachs full, our bodies sore
The aroma intoxicates
Peeling, slicing and into the pot
Now for the jam to boil, we wait


We pour into the Mason jars
And fill them to the brim
We set them on the window sill
And before we cap, we skim


All the foam in the big white bowl
Just waiting for ice cream
Another job done and when Winter comes
Peach jam on toast is supreme










 


Peaches

By Sharon (Sunyskys1943@aol.com)


When growing up, we had all the fresh peaches we could ever want with the many peach trees growing in our yard. Our ornery horse Nibs, loved peaches, especially the sweet white ones. I would take the pits out and give him one or two a day. Mom made the best peach pie anyone could ever find. A scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream on top of a warm slice of peach pie was my favorite treat. We had one of those old crank type of ice cream makers. There were four of us children and we took turns cranking it, all the time thinking of the pleasures of homemade ice cream on top of warm peach pie. Yummy!









 


Peach Pits

By RickMack (rmrickmack@aol.com)


Whenever I see a succulent peach,
My taste buds burst with anticipation,
Taking all my will power not to reach
Out my hand, and succumb to temptation.


I miss the sensation of yummy juice
Wetting my lips and running down my chin.
Memory remains keen, but what’s the use
Of dreaming, knowing that I can’t give in?


It’s not to be, but I wish that there was
A sugar-free type of that tasty treat,
So I could do more than fondle the fuzz,
And happily sink my teeth in and eat.


The sugar content is so very high
That to do so would be folly for me,
So all I can do is indulge my eye,
For I am a diabetic, you see.



©Richard McCusker










 


Peaches

By Doris (Toto38@aol.com)


Before the housing boom took over in Mount Sinai, one town to our west, there were peach farms as far as the eye could see. Davis's Peach Farms has now moved a few towns to our east.

My brother, Jimmy, and his wife, Sally, would visit our mom and always stop at the peach farms for a basket of their fresh peaches right off the tree! They'd bring them to her, having eaten one or two on the way : ) and mom would peel them, slice them up, sprinkle a tiny bit of sugar on them with a dollop of fresh whipped cream. Then mom, Jimmy and Sally, would sit on the porch and enjoy the peaches with homemade cookies and iced tea. Sometimes I walked in at the right time and enjoyed the dessert and company, too.

It's a summertime ritual that is gone with mom and Jimmy, and Sally has moved to Arizona, but the memory remains...always sweet in my heart.

Link to Davis Peach Farm is Active. Click to visit.
Davis Peach Farm










 


Peachy Keen

By Swampetta (SWAMPETTA@aol.com)


There was a young lady,
Her name was Eileen.
Her reputation was shady,
(If you know what I mean.)


Eileen was a pretty thing
With flaming red hair,
And a laugh that would sing.
Didn't have a single care.


She met a fellow named Matt,
She fell in love with him
And BOOM!, That was that!
Until the lights went dim.


He grabbed her and said;
"Now I know what I missed!"
She tilted her head.
That's when they kissed.


He whispered in her ear;
"Your hair smells like peaches."
She said; "My dear..
"Let's walk to the beaches."


What started that night,
It just kept on going.
And the peach tree outside?
Still there and still growing.










 


Peach Crave

By Phyllis Ann (Starbird55@msn.com)




It was the summer of sixty-five.
I was happy and glad to be alive.


I was pregnant with my first child.
There were smells and foods that made me sick both bold and mild.


The one thing that I craved was peaches and Dairy Queen.
The sliced peaches and soft serve made a tasty team.


It was a good thing that the ice cream was just down the street.
I had only a short distance to go for that wonderful treat.


The summer of sixty-five was a special time.
I had my fill of peaches while still in my prime.



Starbird55, Phyllis Ann

(True story)










 


Peaches

By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)


I was twelve or thirteen and heard that Crumpacker’s orchard was hiring pickers. They ran a truck every morning from down Thaxton way for pickers and it came up Route 460 about six in the morning, and would drop you off about six or so in the evening, six days a week. Well the next morning a buddy and I were down on the road and were picked up.

“Pay is ten cents a bushel, strip the trees,” the foreman said as he gave each of us a pack of cards with numbers on them. My number was 54 and you put the card on top of the bushel of peaches you just picked; that is how you were paid. Some folks worked in the packing shed and some worked on the tractor-pulled wagons that put out boxes and hauled the picked peaches back.

Come five O’clock the first day and I had picked 27 bushels of peaches and had made a whomping two dollars and seventy cents. When I got off that truck instead of going home, I went over to the creek and took me a bath to get rid of that dang itching fuzz.

Saturday morning two boys from Roanoke, those dang city guys came out and after an hour they quit. They climbed to the top of the water tower and were swimming in it when Mr. Crumpacker caught them. They were taken to the road and told not to come back. Wish I had thought of it.

Soon I was picking about 35 bushels a day, and that was all work and nothing else. A week or so later I was offered the job of box boy which paid thirty five cents an hour, which was the same as what I was making by picking peaches for ten hours a day. Being a box boy meant you set out the boxes for the pickers and then when the tractor came along, load the picked peaches and take empty boxes off.

The job went on, and three days before school started we got to pick apples and boy-oh-boy was I on a high, for I picked 50 bushels of apples and made five dollars or fifty cents an hour; oh, we worked ten hours a day.

Now I love a good big ripe peach and what is better than to pick one about the size of a large orange or small grapefruit, wipe it on your trouser leg and eat it? Take a big bite and the juice drips off your chin sort of like watermelon, but peach juice is sweet and it puts you on another level. And by golly just think, ten and a half hours a day in a peach orchard; wonder how many I ate?

Funny how some things you like and some you don’t; for example I never cared for peach pie or peach cobbler but I love canned peaches, raw peaches and peach pickles.

Back around 1990, I think it was, I went back to see my mother and worked around the place cutting, trimming and pruning. Anyway, every morning I would have half a cantaloupe and two slices of toast with my coffee for breakfast since they were plentiful. And for lunch I would eat a tomato sandwich. My mother had bought some tomatoes from Mr. Giles so two days before I was heading back home, I called him and he sold me a peck of tomatoes he had picked for me, and he took a dollar for them. I went up to the orchard and they were just unloading peaches, big fresh picked ripe peaches. I bought a bushel.

Down at Moseley’s Bridge I saw a sign: pick your own apples, $3 a bushel so I bought a bushel of apples and the next morning loaded my motorcycle into the back of my pickup and headed back to Wyoming. Man-oh-man what a trip, big juicy ripe peaches, tomato sandwiches and all the apples I wanted. It seems I did have to make a few extra stops on the way home, but oh boy I do remember that trip and those peaches.


Oh, the picture is of two apricots, my crop for the year, a whole two of them. he hee.









 


True Story About A Peach

By susi (Texaswishr@aol.com)


Daddy planted a peach tree one year and waited patiently as the years went by, for it to bear fruit that he could pick off of his own tree and bite into, taste the juicy peach memory of his childhood. It seemed like it took forever, but one day, there was a peach!! And two and then half a dozen! He was sooooo happy!

The days went by and the peaches got a little larger each day. He could hardly wait to sink his teeth into their delicious goodness. Then, tragedy struck. OMG! Where were his peaches? They weren't on the tree. They were all gone except for one that was hanging on a topmost, very skinny branch. Those dadgummed squirrels had pilfered every one of them they could reach, took a few bites out of them and left them laying there on the ground. Well, daddy fumed and fussed about that for days on end. Even the squirrels knew not to come around him for awhile. That was in the fall of 1985. Daddy became ill and before we knew it, he was gone.

The next year, the peach tree bloomed, and again put on some peaches. My brother watched that tree all the time to keep the squirrels out of it, but to no avail. They got them all except one and it stayed on the tree, grew and became a beautiful, sunset colored juicy peach. So Ted picked it and took it out to the cemetery where he laid it on top of dad's headstone. He finally got his peach. But, the next day we went out to the cemetery to plant some flowers, and there was the peach pit, clean as can be, laying on the top of the headstone where Ted had put it. A squirrel at the cemetery had won out.

The peach tree died and became fuel for a campfire and there has never been another. But the story of Daddy's peach lives on.









 


Peaches

By Amy (Fabulousfilly@aol.com)


SOFT FUZZY SKIN
WE LOVE TO DIG IN
TO PEACH PIE AND MORE
OR EAT THEM AT THE SHORE


WE TAKE OUT THE PITS
CUT THE PEACH IN BITS
GRAB ONE
ONE THE RUN


MAKE A PIE
OR SHORT CAKE
YES THESE FRUITS
WE DO BAKE


GOOD FOR US
WITH LITTLE MUSS
OH DEAR ME, A BUSHEL IS A MUST
PICK EM, RIPE,
EAT WITH TRIPE


IN A BOWL,WITH SUGAR AND DOUGH
ITS CALLED A COBBLER DON'T YA KNOW?
WELL IF YOU DON'T IM TELLIN YA SO.
EAT IT WARM, AND EAT IT SLOW


ENJOY PEACHES WHERE EVER YOU GO..










 


Peaches: Ambrosia, the Nectar of the gods!

By Evelyn (Evenccw@aol.com)


From my early years on, peaches have held a special place in my heart and my gastronomical psyche! Without fail, home-canned peaches were always on the birthday celebration menu, alongside the birthday cake, in our children’s growing up years. No doubt, each of our six children has a favorite peach story to tell. Peaches speak of halcyon days of summer, canning and vats of peach jam and yummy peach cobbler. In canning time we would buy bushels of peaches–sometimes at the market and sometimes we would pick them from the trees at an orchard. When I inquired about how many quarts I could can from a bushel of peaches, I was told twenty-one quarts should be the yield if I could keep the kids out of them! Needless to say, many bushels fell short the twenty-one quarts!




Peaches
Ambrosia of the gods!



Late freezes through April in northeastern Ohio have been known to wipe out peach crops for three years in a row. However, one year was memorable for daughter Maureen who wrote about her memory of picking peaches. I remember the orchard and the discomfort of peach fuzz while picking the peaches. She swears by her story, but was I really that mean?!


Peaches



Press one to your nose and breathe it in,
because peaches have a delicious smell.
High atop a teetering tripod ladder,
I buried my head in fruit and foliage
Filling my sack with beauties.
Filling my head with the pioneer rush.
Till gravity takes over
and a free fall of ladder, basket,
peaches and me
Lay scattered and rumpled under the trees.
Mom clamors for the peaches
Checking each for bruises.
“By the way, are you okay??
I found my glasses.
Satisfied nothing was broken
(Except for my dignity),
I laughed.



At our fifty-fifth wedding anniversary celebration, daughter Marcia toasted Tom and me. In my part of the toast there was a little “peach” memory: “So here is to Mom: I love your knees, how they held the weight of all of us as babies, one sleeping on your left shoulder, your right hand cooking supper, then you taught me how to do that. And the weight of all those bushels of fruits and vegetables over the years, especially that one bushel of rotten peaches that you dumped out in front of that shyster at the farmers market who tried to swindle you out of hard-earned money.”

Ah, yes, the things they remember! By the way, I got my money back from the “shyster” at the Beaver Street Market, which is no longer in existence. But the memories of getting up at four in the morning with my sleepy-eyed son, John, linger on. At twelve, he helped me carry fresh produce home that we canned, froze and laid up in the larder for winter.

Much farther down Memory Lane I carry in my heart visions of my Daddy carrying a tiny cast iron “grafting wax melting pot” from tree to tree. I now treasure it as a souvenir of times past. A true antique, the tiny pot is 4" by 5" with a liner that is 3-1/4" x 3-1/4". It is cast iron and resembles a tiny double boiler. Legend has it that it came from Germany with my great-grandfather in 1848.




Daddy's "grafting pot"
from which peach tees flourished



Many peach trees sprung forth from this tiny grafting pot! Daddy was a master of the art of grafting good varieties of peaches onto the scrub peach trees that grew around the farm. He grafted other fruit trees as well. Each summer we looked forward to enjoying peaches to our hearts content. Sometimes the branches were so loaded that they had to be propped for fear that they would break. We were supposed to stay out of the peach trees, but temptation was too great from time to time not to sneak a few of the luscious fruit before they were really ripe. I liked the Elbertas best!

In peach season we had peach cobbler every night. We canned them in half gallon jars. In winter a favorite breakfast of mine was hot buttered biscuits dipped in peach juice, always a reminder of summer. To this day my favorite canned fruit is peaches.

Last, but not least, I have fond memories of stopping at peach orchards on the way to the Outer Banks of North Carolina. My mouth waters for the “Ambrosia of the gods” that the family enjoyed during the many summers spent at the ocean in the sun and sand there. I can say that we weren’t a bit timid as J. Alfred Prufrock when he mused:


Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.



Anyone for peach cobbler?! I think I’ll make a batch. However, not before I indulge myself in the choicest, the most luscious peach in the basket!









 


Peaches

By Jeanie (Mingo184@aol.com)


PEACHES ARE SO JUICY AND SWEET
EATING ONE IS SUCH A TREAT
I LOVE THEM COLD ON A SUMMER DAY
OR WITH ICE CREAM TOPPING AS ANOTHER WAY


WE HAD A PEACH TREE IN OUR YARD
REACHING FOR THE BEST ONE WAS AWFULLY HARD
DAD WOULD HELP AND LIFT ME HIGH
I THOUGHT I WAS REACHING FOR THE SKY


MOM CANNED THE PEACHES, TOO
IN THE WINTER WE COULD HAVE A FEW
I LOVE THE SMELL OF PEACHES IN THE STORE
MAKES ME WANT TO BUY MORE AND MORE










 


Peaches

By Norma (Twi1ite@sbcglobal.net)


When I was growing up every year we drove from El Paso to Central Texas. Just southwest of Central Texas grow the best peaches in the world, I hear. Along the Perdenales River in LBJ Country. They blossom, they burst into spheres so gold and delicious that for a while every restaurant for miles around creates new peach recipes. My grandpaw, besides raising pansies in his late years, had a grove of peach trees. One year we came before they were ripe. For a cactus country child, they were just too tempting, and thus:


Sittin on the back porch
Hidin' a big geen peach
Unique!


Eatin' two, why not,
No one's lookin'
Sneaky!


Grandpa's trees not quite
Ripe, now West Texas child
Sick!











 

 

 

Scene In A Backyard ( 7 Authors )

Ugliness Is What I See

Country Getaway

Needle And Thread

Summer Nights ( 8 Authors )

Two Questions




Lara's Den has free E-cards.
I make them and offer them to our visitors and authors.
Click the button to access the index.

A new section at Lara's Den. Check it out.



Scraps for Scrapbooking. Click the Thumbnail.





And.......for many others, click the index image.



Graphics by Marilyn
http://graphicsbymarilyn.com

graphicsbymarilyn@yahoo.com


Thank you TOMWYO (tomWYO@aol.com) for allowing me to use your photograph.
Just don't tell that those are apricots! lol