I was driving home from the cemetery yesterday along a route I don't normally drive when there it was, this farmstand, like it had been sent to me to ease my heavy heart and remind me again of the abundance of life. So, of course, I stopped and, of course, I got to chatting and causing my kids to do the "here she goes again" eye roll thing.
Turns out this farmstand has been in operation for 39 years. This man is a friend of the owner's and has been working the stand for six years, since he retired from Lockheed. A second life, of sorts.
The produce is mostly from South Carolina, Georgia and Florida--rattlesnake watermelons that make you quickly assess the available space in your refrigerator; canteloupes that yield gently to the pressure of fingertips; juicy, red tomatoes ready to burst from their skins piled eight to a basket; and peaches we could smell as we got out of the car. No sense bothering with the Washington apples, sitting like yesterday's news on the side of the produce stand, when choices like this abound.
Back home, I cut a peach and stood over my sink as its juices dripped down my arm. A "kitchen sink peach," I call ones like that. It doesn't get much better.
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