Peach Farm

The school year was coming to an end and summer was just over the horizon. That summer would prove to be very interesting and busy, more than I could have imagined. After the incident with Maggie, I enjoyed a new-found respect with the other kids and relaxed as I had not been able to before. I still had my job with the dentist, I went to the sewing room often, I did well in school and I had Mindy to share my adventures with. I should say this however, the kids from the home never did really fit in with the kids from town. Some of the older girls at the home did well socially, they were cheerleaders or excelled in sports, but for the most part, the home kids were a group of their own. We were known as "orphans" to the town kids and they did not mind reminding us often. I did not mind at all being associated with the home kids, I even had a sense of pride and commitment to being a part of the home. I realized that being in the home offered me opportunities that I would never have had before.
As soon as school was out, I was called in one day to be told that a family had asked for a child to spend two weeks with them over the summer. It was suggested that I go as I could be trusted and the home supervisors wanted to send someone that they would not have to worry about misbehaving. The family lived in far north Georgia and had a farm. I would have the opportunity to live with this family for two weeks and experience life on a peach farm. I was very excited and happily agreed to go. The family had 6 children, with a girl my age. They lived in a huge rambling farm house with only a few modern amenities, and acres and acres of peach trees. It was an area close to the smokey mountains and it was so beautiful. In spite of it being summer, the air was fresh and cool in the shade and the land so green that it almost hurt your eyes to look at it. You could smell fresh hay on the wind, hear the cows lowing as they went to and from the fields and the rush of a nearby creek. Bees droned incessantly and there were many birds. There were many chickens, and I learned the pleasure of tossing grain to watch them scramble and scratch to find their dinner. Sometimes I would sit in the chicken yard and the lovely hens would gather around my feet and quietly cluck as they milled around. The mother of the family was loving and kind. She seemed to feel sorry for me that I was in the home, and thought perhaps that I had a hard life there. I didn't disabuse her of this idea as I thought that perhaps it would give me an advantage in how she treated me. The children and I made fast friends, and really enjoyed each other's company. The oldest boy was about 16 and farm-boy rugged and handsome. I fell in love with him. He treated me like a kid. Shoot. I participated in all of the chores without being asked, especially as I loved being in the country and being on the farm. The greedy pigs would wait anxiously for their dinner, and I laughed watching them gobble and root in the scraps and grain that they were fed. The horse had such a soft mouth and deep soulful eyes. She would take fruit from my hand and her lips were almost a caress as she took each bite. I loved brushing her and talking to her. She was so gentle. The mother of the family would get up early and fix a large country breakfast. Every single day she cooked eggs, meat, grits, biscuits or toast from homemade bread and put fresh fruit on the table. There was always a pitcher of sorghum, or cane syrup and preserves on the table at all times. This was to pour over the corn bread or biscuits. The family rose early too, and ate with gusto, and without being told left the table to do the chores. I didn't know at first what the chores were, so I stayed behind and helped clean up after breakfast. It seemed as soon as the kitchen was clean, the mother would take out a large pot and start cooking something for lunch. In the south lunch is known as dinner, and dinner as I knew it was called supper. Dinner was the large meal of the day. Fried meat of some kind, fresh vegetables, bread and fresh fruit picked from the family orchard or garden graced the dinner table each day. There was always pie or cake for dessert. The leftovers were served for supper that night. Something was always simmering on the back of the stove, usually a pot of beans or a pot of homemade soup. There was no airconditioning, but up in the mountains, it was not stifling hot, really rather pleasant. Chores included tending the garden, washing clothes, cleaning the house, tending the animals, sewing and working in the orchard. It made my head spin, but everyone worked together and everything got done. The second day I was there, I got up early to the scent of a country breakfast. The other children were rustling awake and soon we were all downstairs and around the table. The mother took her place and told us that we were going to can peaches that day. I had no idea what she was talking about, and she explained that we were going to preserve the peaches in mason jars. These were fresh peaches just picked and perfect for canning. Since I had never canned anything, I didn't know what lay in store for me. After breakfast and cleaning the kitchen, we went out to the side porch and there lay before me about 10 bushels of peaches. Those peaches were lovely. Each one was round and fat, yellow in color with a pink blush and slightly furry. The mother explained that we would have to peel them or "skin them" as it was known, cut the up and put them in sterilized mason jars. Then we would pour a boiling syrup made with sugar, water and lemon juice over the peaches until the jar was full and put on a metal lid with a metal ring. The jars of peaches would then be boiled in a boiling water bath for 20 minutes, taken out and after they cooled, would be put in the cellar to be eaten in the winter. Well, that didn't sound too bad. I soon corrected my opinion a few minutes after the process of skinning the peaches commenced. To skin a peach, you plunge the whole fruit with the skin on into boiling water for 30 seconds, take it out and then plunge it into cold water. The heat from the boiling water would cause the skin to loosen. The cold water would help loosen it further and after that you could just rub the skin off with your hands, leaving the fruit whole and none of the flesh wasted. 10 bushels of peaches was a lot of skinning. Acutally, two of us would skin the peaches, two more would slice them and take out the seed, and two more would fill the mason jars with peaches and boiling syrup. Finally the mother would put the jars in a huge pot of boiling water and take them out when the time was up. It was really efficient, and the work progressed well. To my relief, we did not stay at one station the whole time but rotated. I loved the job of slicing the peaches as I would pop slice after slice of sweet peach into my mouth, while the sticky juice would dribble down my chin. Nobody minded my pilfering, there were more than enough peaches to go around. The sweet scent of the peach nectar attracted honey bees and we were forever swatting them to drive them off. During the peach processing, lunchtime arrived and we all sat down to a pot of homemade soup and bread. Then, back outside to finish the job. I was getting pretty tired of peaches when we finished. The jars were so beautiful though, looking like fat, yellow soldiers lined up on the porch in straight lines. I knew how good they would be that winter, and wished I could be there when they were opened. We had way more than 10 bushels to do, as the mother would also sell the bottled peaches, but there would also be enough for the winter for the family. When we finally all sat back on the porch, our hands sore from skinning the peaches and sticky from the juice, the oldest boy came striding up to the porch with a grin on his face. He asked if we had gotten all the peaches put up, and to our affirmative answer he leaned in close and told us that he was going swimming in the creek. He didn't have to ask if we wanted to go, we jumped up with a squeal of joy and followed him from the porch. Confused, I asked when we would get our swim suits. He laughed and told me that they didn't need swim suits, they would just jump in with their clothes on. Fine with me, and off we went.