Peaches come from a can.
They were put there by a man
In a factory downtown.
And if I had my little way
I'd eat peaches every day
Sun-soaking bulges in the shade.
So goes the song Peaches by the Presidents. Here on Upham Manor, however, our peaches don't come from a can. They are home grown in our own orchard. (OK, so maybe it isn't an "orchard" so much as it is a single tree, but it's mine and I love it.) I love peaches. I think they're the perfect fruit. You don't have to peel them, skin them, or spit out seeds. And these are, without a doubt, absolutely the most delicious, juicy, sweet sun-soaked bulges you've ever tasted. I'm not exaggerating. These suckers are absolutely amazing. I'll give you a dollar if you try one and don't agree they're the best you've ever tasted.
Now, being that they are grown right here on my property, they are a bit more "real" than what you might be used to. That is to say, they are not flawless, pink and yellow orbs that you'd likely find on the shelves of a market. There are little brown speckles (made by rain spots I am told), and it's not at all uncommon for their to be scars and breaks in the skin. My peaches have suffered from splitting. I've tried a number of things to fix this, but I suspect it comes from rapid growth. The skin on top tends to split open, sort of like you'd see on a tomato. It heals over, but it leaves a grey scar on the fruit. Because of this, a large portion of my crop tends to look less than appealing to most people's spoiled eye.
So, if you come over, I'll likely serve them cut up in a bowl for you to eat like tiny slices of cantelope, with all the imperfections carefully skinned away. Or, perhaps after a feast, I'll serve you half a peach, peeled and soaking in a glass red wine. If you've never tried that little Italian secret, you've not lived.
So come by the Manor this week. The peaches have all been picked and are preparing to be eaten and I can guarantee you that you won't be disappointed.