Propitious Peaches

You know I live in a constant state of confusion. That’s true in many ways, but particularly when it comes to the topic of squirrels. I’m a vegan. I love animals. It’s true because it says so on my FAQ page. It’s right there in black and white, “I love animals.”

But I don’t love squirrels. Bitter bile builds up in my system at the mere sight of them. They stand for everything I’m against such as selfishness. It’s probably why they’re so squirrely. And that brings me to another probable reason I hate squirrels. My sisters used to call me “squirrely” when I was a kid. We could go into some psychoanalysis about what this really means, but I think I have cookies in the oven.

Another reason I hate squirrels is that I have three fruit trees in my backyard: a pear, a plum, and a peach tree (I didn’t plant them, but I do love the alliteration). In the many years I’ve lived in this house I have only had one pear. That’s it. This year I hoped would be different. I sprayed cayenne pepper religiously. I even gave an offering to the squirrel gods hoping they would have mercy on me.

Squirrels are not merciful creatures. In fact, they would taunt me while perched on the bough of one of the peach tree limbs sagging heavy with burgeoning fruit. No matter how many times I would run out to the backyard arms flailing yelling non-obscenities (I don’t want to offend the neighbors), I would barely get back to my kitchen window before they were back at it again.

Although I started the summer with high hopes, this year has been no different than the others. All the peaches are gone. All the plums are gone. We are left with only three pears…which I am guarding with a wire contraption (I can tell you more about that later). My dreams of making peach cobbler have been foiled yet again.

Then one day I took an unexpected journey to my family farm in southern Missouri. My dad left this land to me and my sisters last year. For many reasons I hadn’t made it to the property but most of all I think it was hard to return because I knew how special this land was to my dad. And now he’s gone.

Imagine my surprise when I trundled past the waist-high undergrowth (OK, weeds) and saw to the left of the barn a peach tree. And it had some ripened peaches ready for the picking. My spirits lifted immediately.

I thought to myself, “I think I’ll have to steal a couple of those peaches.” And then I realized that I wasn’t stealing. These were my peaches growing on my land. A gift to me from my dad. The trepidation of this trip and the agitation of my “unfruitful” summer vanished. At that moment, I knew everything was as it was supposed to be. It was all worthwhile.