There is nothing in all of Fruitdom as perfect as a tree ripened peach. There is the dizzyingly sweet scent, and the sticky juice dripping down your arms as you lean over the kitchen sink and tear chunks of peach flesh from the stone; in my humble opinion, this fruit stands unrivaled. Perhaps my taste developed from summertime childhood trips to Montezuma, Georgia, with seven kids crammed into a car, to visit my paternal grandparents, where outings to peach orchards were sometimes on the day's agenda. The reddish orange orbs sold in the produce section of grocery stores today are not true representations of this fruit. You have not lived until your teeth have sunken into a tree ripened peach from south Georgia.
Today The Peach Truck rolled into town, and for an hour and a half, Eastridge Hardware, on the border of Tennessee and Georgia, was grand central peach station. I know because I was caught in the middle of the mayhem. A few years ago, a couple in Nashville, transplants from south Georgia, were dismayed that they were not able to find really good, tree ripened peaches in the summer. They were instrumental in starting a peach truck route, loaded with tree ripened fruit from Pearson Farm in Fort Valley, Georgia, which makes its rounds through various states. They are sold to individual consumers in 25 pound boxes; initially the peaches are quite firm, but after 2-3 days at room temperature, they are succulent as any fruit of the gods. Their scheduled destinations and stopping points can be found on their website, thepeachtruck.com. In past years, the truck has rolled through Chattanooga several times, throughout the summer, as long as the peach season lasts.
A few days ago, I saw a notice on facebook, announcing that the tractor trailer loaded truck would be at Eastridge Hardware on May 22, 2017, from 3 - 4:30 pm. Because of the late frost the south experienced when the peach trees were in bloom, peaches would be scarce this year; this would be The Peach Truck's only visit to Chattanooga. Of course I would be there!! My constant search for the perfect fruit would make my mother, Betty, proud. We kids used to be mortified by her unabashed, "scientific" methods for choosing ripe fruit: she smelled every square inch of the piece in question, along with thumps and gentle prodding to check for texture. It seemed to nearly be a religious experience for her. And now this apple has not fallen far from that tree.
When I pulled into the small Hardware store at 2:45 pm, the parking lot was teaming. Cars were double parked, there were directional cones for traffic, and passengers were jumping from the vehicles and speed walking into the store to get in line. A rather portly lady got in line right behind me and breathed heavily down my back for ten minutes from the exertion. The line snaked through the aisles of the store; well over 50 were in front of me and at least double that fell in line behind. One poor chap chose this day and time to actually visit the hardware store to purchase a product to weatherize his deck. Good luck with that! There was a carnival-like atmosphere among the waiting throngs, with tiny bags of complimentary popcorn available for nourishment.
The excitement was palpable when the line started moving. Employees walked through, and in exchange for payment, you were handed one token for each box of peaches that you purchased.
Half an hour later, I was exchanging my tokens for two boxes of the most wonderful fruit on earth (or at least in the south).
I have a deep character flaw which exhibits itself at the most inopportune moments: I don't know why I do this or who I am trying to impress, but in certain situations, I cannot help myself from trying to prove my own competence. It is so foolish because I am a 55 year old woman who is still trying to prove, honestly, I don't know what I am trying to prove. Yes, you know what I did as I approached that table with the 25 pound boxes of peaches. I handed my two tokens over and one of the nice guys offered to help me transport them out to my car, like they were helping most of the other customers, using wheeled dollies. "Oh I can manage the boxes by myself," were the words that came out of my mouth. Those around turned and looked, rather startled. They offered again, "are you sure?" Well there was no backing down now.
I staggered through the crowd, balancing those twin 25 pound boxes like it was something that I did everyday. There was a part of me that was horrified at the fool I was making of myself, and yet another part was saying, "yeah, its like a work out!" I must have appeared awkward on my walk of shame/fame through the store and out to the parking lot, because three different employees asked if I needed help. Even if I was on my hands and knees crawling, I was not going to accept help now. (Yes kids, I can hear your knowing laughter at your mule-headed mom).
Someday I will be mature and demure, but I guess it won't be today. The good news is that in 2-3 days, I will be feasting on tree ripened Georgia peaches from The Peach Truck. Tonight, there are visions of peach cobbler, peach delight, bellinis, sliced peaches and oatmeal, and juicy, whole peaches, dancing in my head.
