It was the first peach of the day, but it wasmore than that; it was going to be the first peach of a really wonderful peach glut. I had everything I needed. My mouth, an empty stomach, and a nice paper bag buling full of fine farm-fresh peaches. I was about to put my incisors to some serious work damaging this one particular inaugural peach, held out right in front of my waiting mouth, when I put the fruit down and called up a friend to invite her to join me, but only getting this friend's friendly answering phone message, I went to work alone.
The peaches were hard to the touch. Harder than I would've liked. But I feel like time is running out. I leave Boulder on Saturday afternoon. And by then this bag of peaches had better be eaten. And fast.
But this first peach was disappointing. It was hard, unsweet, and tasteless. I had two more, with similar results. We're not talking crunchy here like an apple, but they all lacked the smooshy juiciness so essential - for me - to a good peach experience. I was going to eat the entire bag huge multiple-pound, but after the third peach, I collected the peach pits in a small bowl and slid them into the trash. I have to wait. Still. Maybe my friend can join me on my peach gorge after all.