Well, that wasn't a stylin' crape myrtle you passed. That was our neighborhood peach tree. This year, to keep squirrels (and the occasional pedestrian) from snagging our peaches, we coiffed the whole tree with row cover.
After a couple of weeks under wraps, the unveiling took place over the weekend. Our neighbor who looks after the tree adjudged the fruit ready for picking. We gathered our buckets, assembled our ladders and rolled the drums.
Kids, are you ready for some peaches?
Off came the row cover and in we reached.
The first peach I bit into took me back to my youth. Warm juices running down my chin. Bursts of summer flavor. And right here on our block in the middle of the city. Imagine: growing food on 13th Street! This is even better than the farmer's market...
Here you see our neighbor, John Paul, filling his bucket with fresh peaches. By my estimation, less than half the fruit was fully ripe. Still we harvested several buckets worth--enough for the whole neighborhood, really. We'll come back later in the week for more.
Meanwhile, we hauled our share of peaches home and yesterday my wife turned them into these exquisite 6-inch pies. She plans to distribute them to the neighbors who so graciously have been tolerating all our gardening madness.
Now I'm having a Forest Gump moment. I'm thinking peach ice cream, peach cobbler, peaches and cream...