Good memories are a priceless treasure. Im off work today (worked last night, back at it tomorrow morning) ... so I found myself rushing around this morning. Bleary eyed from working late. Illness rampaging through my home. Kids that need to get to school. Car wrecks on Germantown Parkway. Creative words for my thoughts on Germantown Parkway. Finally getting off of Germantown Parkway. Then struggling with a man overseas about how to fix a Netgear WiFi extender. Unsuccessfully. Im tapping out. So with coffee in hand, and easy chair under rear, I sit. And on this cold, rainy, foggy Monday morning, I open my trusty iPhone 6+, thumb over to the photo albums, and its instantly a warm summer day. Two years ago, we grabbed my mom, loaded the kids in the van, and went on a family adventure. Peach and blackberry picking at Jones Orchard in Millington. It was overcast that day, but summery nice. I had general directions to the area, then handpainted wooden signs lead me in. We pulled into a gravel lot, next to an open air stall next to an old barn. Dusty but helpful young men greeted us, and said Fill em up! So we picked up an armful of brown wicker baskets, and followed their pointed fingers where to drive and park. And it was awesome. Row after row of heavily laden peach trees. The air was rich with the fragrant smell of ripe fruit, weighing down the branches as we walked under them, and sometimes squishing under our feet. The kids ran in all directions. Look at this one! NO ... look at THIS one! They climbed the low gnarled branches, reached high for prizes, cradled their fuzzy treasures all the way to the ground. We tried a few. They burst with sweetness, and tasted like candy. Then we marched over to the close rows of blackberry bushes. The dark shiny globs stood out in sharp contrast to the deep green leaves. Each fat little berry we plucked felt like a win, a discovery, something no one else had seen or knew about. A secret gift from God to us. We ran in the sun, picked with smiles, and carried our loaded vessels back to the van. Dusty sneakers and berry-spotted hands had never felt more right. Winding our way out of the farm and orchards, we ended up on the highway - and soon, spotted the small Jones Orchard store. The signs told us they had fresh jarred jellies and relishes and more ... so into the gravel lot we went. Jar after hand-filled jar filled the shelves. All colors and flavors, from fresh-picked sweet to fiery-hot. We read every label and studied every one. We talked to the smiling boy working the register ... shared how much we had enjoyed the orchard. And he disappeared into the back. Seconds later, there he was with an older woman. She had on an apron, and a hairnet covered her white hair. Her eyes smiled as she wiped flour off of her hands, and invited us back into the kitchen. This is our family farm. Been here for a long time. But its good land. There were hot stoves and pots of vegetables everywhere, as busy women bustled back and forth. Jams and jellies, all being filled, all smelling fantastic. In the back, a table full of men looked up as she introduced us. Its lunch time, she explained to us with a smile. They work hard, so we try to feed them good. The table was a dream. All food they had planted, and nurtured, and grown, and harvested. Giant purple sliced onions, forest green pepper wedges, steaming beans and the most beautiful tomatoes Id ever seen. All surrounded by warm, fluffy, homemade biscuits. Yall sit down! Youre eating with us. I insist. And we did. And it was delicious. I clearly remember cracking open a steaming biscuit as my fingers burned and spreading on a thick glob of fresh berry jam, watching it settle into the flaky crust then disappear into my belly. We ate until we thought wed pop. Then we went back out to the store front and loaded our arms and bought jar after jar of their goods. We laughed, took pictures, said our goodbyes, and she disappeared back into the kitchen with a smile after receiving our promise that wed come back soon. And we will. I just did.
Posted on: Mon, 12 Jan 2015 17:51:11 +0000
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