Peaches

Several weeks ago, I had a thought about a blog that I needed to write about the Dog Days of summer, but now that we are either in them, or through them, the idea really doesn't move me.  But at the same time, we had a bag of peaches show up in the refrigerator last week and those brought back a flood of memories that I decided that I really needed to share. So, here goes.

When I was young (a long, long time ago) my grandparents were very important and very involved in my life.  My father died when I was not yet ten and because mom still needed to work to support us, we spent a lot of time with Grandma and Grandpa.  My grandmother was a wonderful person, but those stories are for another day,  Today I want to tell you about my grandfather.  He was a man who that had only an elementary education, and I remember that he cried at the thought of one of his grandchildren going to college.  However, he was one of the smartest, most hard working people that I ever knew.  Not only did he work for the Keokuk County roads department as the rock foreman, his passion was horses - training and showing them. Rare was the time that we had less than fifteen head around the place that they lived.  This was always a combination of those that he was training and those that either belonged to him or to one of his grandchildren.

About forty miles from where we lived, there was a community that hosted a horse sale one Monday each month.  This community was in the heart of Amish country in Iowa, so the number of horses going through this sale was significant.  The thing that we had learned years before however was that you should never buy a horse from an Amish man.  If they were selling the horse, either they were too old to work or something was really wrong with them.  The event was amazing, though.  Many of you may remember things like this, and for those of you who don't, these were the closest thing to the village bazaar you would see.  Merchants and individuals alike showed up to sell their goods and wares in any and all manners possible.  This was the thing that made this particular day so memorable to me.

Up until this point in my life, I thought that peaches were something that came in a can, bright yellow and smooth, packed in heavy syrup.  What else could they be?  I had never seen them in any other manner.  Well, that day there was a merchant there selling fresh peaches. Grandpa decided that we should buy some to take home so that Grandma could make a pie or something.  He bought half a lug from the gentleman which is twelve and a half pounds, or about twenty-five peaches.  To my surprise, they were not bright and yellow, and, they were kind of fuzzy.  I wasn't really sure what to think about this, but, Grandpa told me that it would be alright, so I went ahead and tried one.

Now ... fast forward to getting home at the end of that day.  When we walked into the house, carrying our spoils as though back from a conquest, there were exactly three peaches left.  We had, in fact, eaten the rest of them throughout the day and on the way home.  When we told Grandma that we had bought them for her to make pies or something with, the look on her face was quizzical.  It took a bit of time for us to admit to her that we had eaten about 22 peaches that day.  At that point, the laughter was nearly hysterical.

This memory has to be the better part of 45 years old now, but each and every time I bite into a peach, I remember the day, the time with Grandpa, and the amazed look on my Grandma's face when she figured out what we had done.  I know that things such as smell or taste are powerful memory triggers.  I have read this time and again over the years, but when something like this happens, it really drives the point home.  My family will tell you that I can become a complete basket case over a movie or even a television commercial if they use the right music and I can remember people that I have not thought of in years simply by walking through a mall and experiencing the fragrances people wear.

I have no idea how we would ever capture any of these things, but if you are like me, you certainly know them when they present themselves.  Stop and enjoy, or at least process the things that act as memory triggers for you.  They are a door to a part of your own history that only opens for you once in a while, but when it does, typically the memories are powerful and as fresh as if they had occurred this morning.