Do any of you remember Elton John's song, "Rotten Peaches"?
I don't know why, but I've always liked that song.
And I've always liked peaches.
Not rotten ones.
And not those tasteless, hard ones you buy in the grocery store with hopes they will somehow ripen on your windowsill and be worth eating.
No, not those.
But those peaches you pick right off the tree - the ones that practically fall into your hand when you touch them, and whose juice drips down your chin and arm when you bite into them - those peaches - oh, those peaches I seriously enjoy.
Friday, a big caravan of clan, with a few extra friends thrown in for thrills, descended on a peach orchard near my Chicken Raisin' Seester's place, and we picked luscious, juicy, perfectly ripe peaches to our hearts' content.
Some of the pickers used this handy tool to get the beauties which were out of reach to us mere mortals.
.
Some were taste-testers.
Oh, okay.
I admit it.
All of us were taste-testers.
And all of the peaches passed the test.
We've been having peaches for snacks, baking peach cobbler for guests, and whipping up peach-blackberry smoothies for breakfast.
I'm telling ya.
A couple of juicy peaches, plus a cup or so of frozen blackberries (lovingly hand-picked by your seester), plus a tablespoon of orange juice concentrate and some vanilla yogurt = yummy goodness in a (stemmed!) glass to start the day.
And if you end the day sitting in a comfortable, air-conditioned room with your Darlin' Mither, your seesters, and several of your all-grown-up nieces...
And if you're all sharing your lists titled "25 Things I Know For Sure"...
Well...
It just doesn't get much better than that.