I’m sitting at the kitchen desk composing an email when a velvety sweetness wafts by – almost like fresh coconut. It confounds me, since I don’t have any tropical fruit, or candles, on hand. I quickly turn my head and find the scent source. A small bowl of peaches and nectarines is ripening on the counter.
Inhaling deeply, I’m transported back to summer camp in upstate New York. My bunkmates and I have been subsisting on bug juice, mystery meat, and a few other barely edibles for weeks. One of the counselors offers a rare treat – a ride to town for this group of displaced city kids. We walk around the sleepy little hamlet like we’ve been sprung out of jail. A produce stand appears, stocked with mounds of local summer fruit. I purchase a single perfect peach – larger than a baseball – and take a bite. The sweet juice runs down my chin and I think – this is most delicious peach I have ever eaten in my entire life. And to this very day, it still is.