Clean Up in Produce

When I was a kid the whole family used to pile into the car to go pick as many peaches as we could from an orchard in Tyler, Texas. I have so many fond memories of the peaches, their juices, the hot sand, the fuzz getting on everything, the homemade peach ice cream, jam, and peach cobbler.

All the memories are good ones, which is a lot considering my childhood.

My mom had peach trees in the backyard of her home too. I distinctly remember sitting on the deck, chatting, relaxing, just being and seeing her tenderly nurture her peach trees.

Again, all the memories are good ones.

Tonight I go to the store to get some fresh produce. I catch a fragrant whiff of fresh peaches. Instantly I was taken back to that place.

A place of comfort.

A place of warmth.

A place of love.

A place of safety.

A place of Mom.

Then, as quickly as I was taken to that place, the tears came.

One by one.

Making their way down my cheek.

Plop.

Plop.

Coming to rest on the plastic bag I was putting fresh, store bought peaches from.