Peach trees and other summer thoughts...
A peach tree has endeared herself to me. I’ve fallen for her sultry red bark. The fruit on her branches drip sugar crystals that harden into stalactites in the summer sun. And if everyone could see her blush sweet pink as the spring warmth thaws the tips of her branches into blooms, they would commit themselves to her, too.
I wasn’t sure how to fall in love with a tree. Not until it happened to me. The term tree hugger never struck me as relational. More an emotional approach to environmentalism. Growing up my mother had a phrase she’d say from time to time, something we would ruthlessly tease her about, “I hunger for the look of trees!”
Some green blood must have passed from her to me, because I now long to look at this peach tree that roots and stretches in the front lawn.
I’d volunteered for years with an organization in my neighborhood that specializes in beautifying our city. From people to plants, down alleyways and front curbs. Their motto is, “Stronger neighborhoods, healthier lives.” A knock on my front door one day, and a handful of the staff I volunteered with were gathered.
“We’ve got a peach tree for you, Maddie, as a way to say thank you for your help.”
The neighborhoods of Cedar Rapids were still early in the 2020 Derecho recovery, and the organization had been busy restoring the lives of the community. Both people and trees. I had no idea that I would be gifted a tree during the Re-Leaf campaign. Nor a winter-hybrid, ornamental, fruiting peach tree!
The tender sapling smelled sweet and looked petite all swaddled in her burlap. I marked a spot right out front on full display for all of E Avenue to enjoy. We broke ground and tucked her into the soil. I scurried to the nursery for landscaping blocks, weed fabric, and a spotlight. Along the way a name came to me, Lady Georgia.
In Georgia’s first year, against all odds of transplanting and Iowan weather, she fruited five glorious peaches. Now as I write this sitting eighty miles away, with the midsummer swelter driving me and the Bulldog inside most afternoons, Lady Georgia is plumping up thirty-two fuzzy globes. It won’t be long before her new owners get to taste the most glorious summer taste of all, sun ripened peaches.
I’m thinking about that little peach tree today. She drifts through my mind from time to time. And even though I don’t live on the same plot of land as her anymore, if I dig my fingers into the rich Iowan soil, I can find a root or two that connect me back to her.
Books for loving peaches in the summer:
