I went to a farmers market today, down by the water. A beautiful day, and I was hunting some fruit and vegetables. I bought this beautiful, huge peach and left hopeful, and hungry at the thought of this lavish, fresh, succulent piece of heaven. *A fresh peach, it brought back memories of when I was about 6 years old, when we had several fruit trees in the backyard. Us kids used to gorge ourselves on the peaches, plums, apricots, and oranges. My mom made jams and pies. Um, this beautiful peach I couldn’t wait, even to get it back and wash it. I just figured, well, a few tree germs, I can handle. A good healthy peach, with all the fuzz. Fresh fuzz. Natural fuzz. I turned the peach over and over in my hands. I rubbed my fingers over the peach, feeling the fuzz, trying to rub it off. Thinking of youth, playing, fresh fruit, cobblers, jams, fresh bread.
I bit into the peach.
It was the perfect peach, *until I tasted it. I really enjoyed contemplating the peach much more than the actual taste, flavor and texture of the peach itself. In a way, I regret eating the peach. It wasn’t very sweet. It was ripe but didn’t have a particularly strong peachy flavor, and yet, for all its lack of vitamins, and nutritious wholesomeness, it was one of the best peach experiences of my life.*I’m sure there is a lesson in here somewhere. Maybe it is the gift of the memories of youth, perhaps it is a gift letting me know that small things in life can instill a sense of happiness, perhaps the gift is a sign for hope for the future, or the satisfaction in being able to look with wonder and joy at past experiences in my life. Maybe this is one of the “you can’t judge a book (or fruit) by its cover (or color), lesson. Perhaps the peach was just a peach. *Regardless of the nutritional state of my perfect peach, I am content in the experience, and know that today; I experience every minute of my life with satisfaction. Even if the peach wasn*t worthy, I know that I am. I hope you find your own peach today