Peaches
Last year I bought a peach tree at the spring Master Gardener Sale—and harvested exactly one peach that was about an inch across.
This spring I had high hopes for so many peaches I would have to beg people to take them or leave them on their doorsteps secretly at night.
The tree obliged by a wealth of blossoms.
I really didn’t realize the blossoms were so complex and so pretty—and such a lovely scent–almost outdoing the satsuma in the other part of the front yard—the tree that Toby dug out of it’s pot twice before I begged the yard man to plant it. It was down to bare roots when it finally got a home. It is covered with tiny green balls that will hopefully become satsumas.
The peach tree set four peaches–better than last year I thought.
But then we had Noah’s Ark type of deluge—and the tree dropped the fruit, dropped many of its leaves–and now I am just hoping it will survive until next year.
I’ll have to buy peaches at the grocery store—and my neighbors can all relax–no midnight skirmishes with bags of fruit at their doorsteps.
Sylvia Weir Art 