‘Tis the season for stone fruit at our local farmers market in the Arden-Arcade neighborhood of Sacramento, CA. A live music duo or trio keeps us movin’ right along as we contemplate the picnic, pie, and frozen possibilities of our five-pound mixed bag.

‘Tis the season for schlurping peaches, plums, and pluots directly over the kitchen sink and not wiping our elbows until every fiber is off the seed.

Fredericksburg, TX peaches come ripe in time for the Fourth of July. Little cubes of peach make their circuits through the paddles as Granddaddy cranks the custard. Ice and rock salt crunch between metal and wood. Cousins busy themselves, putting firecrackers down cicada holes.

August 2005: Mom and Dad brought a peck of Virginia peaches for our firstborn’s arrival. On Camilla’s ninth day of life Mom and I made a pie and took baby to her first picnic.

Sacramento, 2009: When we first moved here I hoped we’d find a house with fruit trees. The one we chose gets apple drop on the concrete patio from our neighbor on the right, lemons over the back fence, and an oleander (NOT edible), all white and magenta blossoms, courtesy our left-side neighbor. No peaches. I imagine those would be a mess anyway, and attract bees.

So here’s to summer. What do you say, will you join me in a schlurp right now?

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