You’ve seen the commercials this time of year offering visions of families, apple pies, fireworks, American Flags, summertime parties, grilling burgers and big pickup trucks. Well, to me that’s just not completely right. Apples are a fall fruit … to me, they say Halloween, back-to-school, caramel apples, changing colors and shorter days. To me, summer is the time for Peach Pie. During a few weeks in the summer, there is no finer peach to be found — putting the rest of the year’s mealy offerings to shame.
Personally, I am mesmerized by their sweet fragrance and their beautiful color. My resistance is futile.
So, despite the heat I needed a Peach Pie. Desperately.
It’s not the huge pile of debris that needs to be put away … huge pots and pans, decorations, signs, chairs … and it’s not that I’m still tired (although, I still am.) The feeling I still have is a bit of warmth and happiness about how it all turned out.
- her husband died in the early 1930′s and she eventually remarried one of her boarders, but still ran the boarding house. She cooked, cleaned and worked hard every day of her life. She made wine, which she stored in the basement and she cooked huge family dinners. She died before I met my husband’s family, but stories of her are still recounted often; especially when we all gather for a special Italian meal or event. It’s almost as if I had met her; she is in my thoughts, too.