Ripe fruit

This may look like a giant bowl of peaches. 

But it is really a time machine.

* * * * *

Yesterday I waddled over to my generous neighbor's back yard and picked a full giant bucket full of these blushing beauties. I gathered as much as I could safely pick. There's still bushels left, but still needing a day or two to be ready. That or, they're just out of reach that I'd need a ladder, and I'm a little front heavy these days. 

Today---this morning---I took that bucket outside to the cool morning back patio, grabbed a bowl, and my favorite paring knife, and set to work.

Arianna played in the garden, stomping to "the ants go marching..." and finding treasures. "Look! A stick! Look! Can you guess what it is? A peanut!" Gifts left by the squawking Mexcian Jay birds that frequent the yard.

I sat, rotund, balancing the bucket for the skins and pits on my leg, and set forth on the zen movement.

Grab peach, halve it, pit it, slip the skin, slice into bowl...

Grab peach, halve it, pit it, slip the skin....

Grab peach, halve it, .....

until it became just the movement. The motor, the humming of the time machine.

Because I was suddenly transported into a little kitchen with faint baby blue linoleum, and round orange naugahyde squeaky metal stools.

I was standing at the sink in my great-grandmother's house. I'm 10 years old. I have just brought in the cardboard fruit box of pears I've picked from her front tree. And it's time to start peeling all the peaches and pears, and slice them up to make fruit cocktail.

And she's right there. Grandma Page, in all her softness and light and sweet smile, and clean goodness.

She teaches me how to pull the skin off in one clean strip, using the knife against my thumb.

Just like mom does.

The time machine jumps.

I'm in Maine. It's high summer, and the peaches are ready for canning. But the whole kitchen is filled with all the heavy juicy jewels of the August garden. Zucchini, tomatoes, blueberries, corn all wait in the sink. The basket of peaches has a haze drunken fruit flies dancing over it.

Grab peach, halve it, pit it, slip the skin....

In real-time--the hummingbirds and yellow jackets are buzzing overhead fighting at the feeder. Arianna continues to march with the ants...."and they all go marching DOWN...to the ground..."

Grab peach, halve it, pit it, slip the skin....

Grab peach, halve it, pit it, slip the skin, slice into bowl...

And mama is there, in all her goodness, and strength, and happy laughter,  helping me to feel the edges of the glass jars for imperfections, and showing me how to place those orange cheeks inside so they fit just so.

In real time--I'm slicing and skinning and dripping all the peach elixir down my hands, and it collects on my elbows and seeps into my skirt. Onto my round peachy belly. The cracked veins of the red peaches matching my red and purple stretch marks. I am carrying ripe fruit. Nearly there. Nearly ready to be picked off this heavy branch.

Grab peach, halve it, pit it, slip the skin....

Grab peach, halve it, pit it, slip the skin, slice into bowl...

The time machine jumps.

And I am with mother Eve. She's just there, sitting with her family around her, and her babies. In all her wisdom, and humanity, holding out fruit to all her children. "Eat this. It's good for you."

Grab peach, halve it, pit it, slip the skin....

Grab peach, halve it, pit it, slip the skin, slice into bowl...

Grab for another peach and they're gone.

I've finished this part of the work.

The time machine disappears.

I'm sticky handed, resting and filled with lingering visions.

Fruit, and time, and mothers.