by Angela Price

I am sitting on my back patio watching the hens peck around the yard.  Daisy, the alpha hen, lowers herself to the ground and gracefully stretches out a wing to take advantage of the sun near the peach tree I planted a few years back.  Hens understand summer, I think.  We are so lucky to have this weather in Southern California.  Summer is a time for growing and harvesting, for slicing juicy tomatoes and picking the perfect peach.  The squirrels ate most of my peaches this summer, so I am forced to rely on the farmer’s market and the bi-weekly box of produce from the CSA. I am so excited when the box arrives at the front door.  I always wait a few minutes before I open it; it’s like a special gift.  Inside the box, past the lettuce and the cucumbers and an overly fragrant cantaloupe, I see them: 5 peaches!  They have the most beautiful color, orange and red and yellow, like little round sunsets. The cantaloupe wants to compete for the attention.  I am not terribly fond of them, so I exile it to the refrigerator.  Unfortunately, these peaches are not perfect.  The best peaches should be eaten out of hand with the sweet juice running down your chin and forearm. These peaches are a little bit hard with only a faint scent of stone fruit.