A Peachy Sunday

Every year our family goes peach picking.

There is just nothing like eating a peach right off the tree. The best tasting ones are the juiciest.

The juice rolls down your arm in a wonderfully sticky mess!

Ah, summertime.

In years past, we had gone to the same peach farm for our peach picking adventures. It was a small farm that was owned by a family that was more or less in the back of their house.  They were such a wonderful couple. They made you feel right at home and remembered our family from year to year. The kids loved playing with their pets and would even get rides on their four- wheelers every now and then. They finally decided to retire last year.

Peach picking just won’t be the same without them this summer.

I did lots of research on the internet and called the various peach orchards throughout the Hill Country. I was determined to find a similar experience.  I was pretty certain that I had found the new,perfect place for us to pick our peaches.

After printing off directions and packing some snacks, our family was off to explore a brand new place. We even had Nana with us to enjoy her last Sunday before she heads back home. We left early enough to try and beat the heat.

We went over the river.

 

And through the woods.

Soaking in all the beauty that is the Texas Hill Country.

We arrived at our destination when I soon heard the following news from one of their staff:

Teenager: “We don’t allow you to pick your own peaches, we sell them already picked.”

Me: “But I just called you a few hours ago and I asked specifically about picking them ourselves,it is a family tradition!”

Teenager: “Ma’am, I don’t know who you talked to but we don’t do that. The nearest orchard is about 20 miles away. Do you still want to buy some peaches? We have blackberries,tomatoes and watermelon too!”

Being both ticked off and hot because the temperature had already risen to about 95 degrees before noon, I did what any other Southern lady would do in my same predicament. I bit my tongue and bought some damn fruit. I then asked for a map for the peach orchard that would indeed allow us to pick our own peaches because after all, it is a family tradition!

 

We loaded up the minivan again with hot,confused children who are now starving because it is almost lunchtime. The snacks I packed had lasted about 10 exits up the interstate!

I then do what any resourceful mother would do, I pass out the fruit I had just bought from the peach place that I thought would welcome us with open arms to pick peaches out of their groves, only to be meet with rejection!

The kids had juice from the tomatoes running down their faces and blackberries smeared from the top of their noses to the earlobes. It wasn’t a pretty sight but they were hungry.  I probably would have cut open the watermelon if I had packed a knife. I had plenty of wet wipes. I was determined that we would pick peaches before we stopped for lunch.

After all, it was a family tradition!

 

The fruit did the trick. The kids weren’t hungry anymore and we were yet again appreciating the beauty of the Hill Country.

We came upon this one room schoolhouse that is located right outside of the peach tree farm that did indeed, allow you to pick your own peaches. The kids couldn’t believe that you could learn in a school that was so tiny. It was a nice diversion as we were made to wait.

There was a huge line  for them to open their gate at 1pm. The heat index was now about 100 degrees.

Ahhh…summertime in South Texas.

 

We finally made our way into the gate and parked the car. We got out and were quickly summoned to an area to get a briefing on “How to pick Peaches” Even though we felt very confident in our peach picking skills, everyone had to participate or they would not be allowed to pick their own peaches. We stood and listened and sweated and sweated and sweated. It took them 30 minutes to explain the best way to pick a peach. Yes, really.

One of the twins had enough. She wanted to go back to the car with Nana who had already decided that it was far too hot for her to participate in our family tradition.

Sigh.

We took Catherine back to the car to enjoy the rest of our new peach picking tradition in the comfort of the air conditioner.

The air conditioner that is on because the car is too; it is burning gas that was purchased for $3.40 a gallon.

 

 

We then headed to the very last row of peach trees. It felt like it was a million miles away. We were instructed to pick the harvest peaches only. I feared jail time if we were to stray from his very specific instructions. Our new peach grower had already been given a nickname by our teenager.  The Peach Nazi. I wholeheartedly agreed.

He sucked the fun right out picking peaches.

Our family tradition was now tainted.

 

With a new urgency to get out of the terrible heat and back to the car that was now burning money by the second, we proceeded to pick peaches.

And wipe sweat.

 

 

And turn red from the heat.

And wipe sweat some more.

It now felt like 110 degrees.

In the shade.

 

 

We finally filled up our box. 

 

 

And headed back a million more miles to pay for our bounty.

The peaches got to ride on the four wheeler. We however, did not.

We piled back in the car.

Anxious to finally eat lunch.

 

 

 

 

 

The restaurant had cool plates.

 

 

But really bland food.

 

 

We loaded up the car again to head home. I was so disappointed in our day. It was so hot.  The new peach place was so different from what we had experienced in the past. The food at the restaurant that I knew Nana would just love was only average.

I was already thinking about next year because it had to be perfect. After all, it was a family tradition. Picking peaches is supposed to be fun!

We unloaded the car when we got home.

I was busy trying to get blackberry stains out of our leather seats when Savannah came up to me in her innocent 7 year old little girl voice and said, “Thank you Mom, for the best day ever!  I had so much fun picking peaches with you and Daddy, Nana, Bubba and Sissy.

Can I take some of the peaches to the neighbors?”

My sweet daughter taught me a lesson yesterday.

I guess that it would make it my lesson number 156 of being a parent.

Kids don’t really care about what we might perceive as being the perfect day or experience.

They only want to spend time with you.

After all, it is a family tradition.

 

Stay Sassy Y’all.