A perfect peach

My dad's parents lived in the northern end of California's Central Valley, a productive farming area for fruits, nuts, rice, and other crops. Summer peaches always remind me of our childhood visits, and my grandmother saying that 'she was going to fix some peaches' for dessert.

This meant peaches from an orchard in nearby Red Bluff, large rosy peaches picked at their peak, carefully peeled and sliced, served with a bit of sugar and cream.

I had a perfect peach for breakfast this morning. I bought some at our local farmer's market yesterday afternoon from an older couple. This was an extraordinary peach -- perfectly ripe, sweet, and delicious. It bore limited resemblance to the 'local peaches' that I've bought at the grocery recently.

still life with peaches...

I had bought some red-fleshed plums from them several weeks ago that were (almost) as good, and wanted to ask what kind they were -- the answer was 'oh, we just call them purple plums.'