I grew up with a peach orchard right behind my house.  I first typed “literally in my back yard” but I knew you would think I was misusing/overusing the word literally – a peeve of many.  Technically it was behind my back yard.  But it really WAS literally my house, my yard and then acres and acres (and acres) of peach trees.

My Mom would never let us have any before the crops were picked.  She made it very clear that would be stealing, even with my endless begging of “they won’t miss just ONE.”

Waiting was torture…but the day the crews came through was my favorite day of the year (well, top 10).  When they left, we’d go gather the rejects.  The smallest blemish would cause a peach to be rejected so there were tons discarded on the ground.

They were “stand over the sink” peaches.  So juicy, you had to eat them while standing at the kitchen sink to avoid coating the kitchen table and floor in a sticky, wet mess.  Mom would also put them in pretty much anything that could possibly contain a peach.  She canned them, made pies, cobblers and preserves.

The day they plowed down the orchard to build a housing development was a very sad day indeed.  I have always missed those trees.

Each peach season I scour every farmer’s market stand I drive by looking for peaches that live up to the perfect-peaches-from-my-back-yard standard.  It’s a rarity to find one that does.

Last year I planted 2 trees and guess what?  Peaches are actually growing!  Even with my black thumb that kills all that is green.

I now have a peach orchard LITERALLY in my back yard.  Yes, it counts as an orchard in my book.

And I don’t have to wait for the rejects.  That is just peachy.