This week we picked four big boxes of beautiful peaches from my old, faithful peach tree--we had a very late spring this year and I was afraid the frost would come before they ripened, but my old friend came through again--one last time.
Many years ago my dad found a peach pit growing in his yard, nurtured it along with his wonderful green thumb, and then brought it 600 miles to plant it in my yard. Although it's hard to predict how a wild peach tree will produce, Dad was right--the little tree faithfully brought forth many bounteous crops of sweet and juicy peaches that ripened late in the season, as well as shading my kids (and then their kids) as they played and climbed.
I'm sad to say this will be its last harvest. Time, weather, and insects have taken their toll, and although we have babied it along, we now have to say goodby. There will be a big gap in our garden--how we will miss its fruit and shade!
My dad loved trees, and continued to plant them well into his eighties. He too is gone now, leaving a hole in our lives, but we still have his strong roots...the more lasting kind of roots we can keep and pass on!
Thanks, Daddy! I'm eating a peach for you. . .