Ragged 'n Ripe Peaches and Momma!

It did not happen often but it was always wonderful.  We watched the peach tree and waited for the peaches to drop.  It was only in the house at 709 North Strong Street that we had a peach tree.  Peaches have always been my favorite fruit.  A big, juicy dark red apple with four points on the bottom was always nice, but a rarity at our house.  Sometimes some one in town would have a plethora of apples and we would be sent to harvest the leftovers on the ground beneath the tree.  These were sorted, worms removed and the harvest made into apple butter or apple sauce which was basically the same thing.  Jars of apple sauce lined the shelves down in the root cellar.  Fried apples appeared regularly for supper, or dinner.  Chopped apples swam in oatmeal. To this day I do not eat an apple unless it is a dark red one with 4 points on the bottom and it is raw.

Pears are actually my favorite fruit, but I do not recall having them as a child.  Once when Duane and I were living in Liberal a man in the neighborhood came and told me I could harvest the pears on his big pear tree.  He furnished a ladder and I climbed up the tree and managed to harvest a big bushel basket.  Of course the kids were eating them almost as fast as I picked them, but I persevered and home we went.  I do not recall where the jars came from nor the rings and lids, but I did can them and processed them.  Sadly, the kids did not like them from the jar and when we moved the jars were left behind.  I assume some one did something with them.

Bananas were a rarity at the store, so pears, apples and peaches were what I grew up eating as far as fruit went.  Unless you want to count the Currants and wormy Mulberries. Oh, wait!  Every Christmas we each got an orange.  That was special only because it came once a year and beneath it was my Big Chief tablet and a brand new pencil.

However, my fondest memory in the whole world was when Momma turned the sign in the front window and the iceman would leave extra ice.  I knew what would happen next!  On the day the extra ice was left down in the root cellar, Momma would dig out the ice cream freezer.  It was washed and dried and assembled on the floor in the kitchen.  A can of "Ragged Ripe Peaches" would appear on the table.  Rudolph Reinke would appear with a jar of heavy cream.  The ice block would be brought up and Jake would use the ice pick to chip the ice so it would fit in the space between the metal bucket holding the elixir and the wooden outside.  Making ice cream was a family affair and probably the only time we could all refrain from fighting.  Momma cooked the ice cream until it thickened a bit and than poured it into the metal can.

Now,  after we had taken turns on the crank and it was getting hard to turn, the crank was taken off and the lid removed.  Momma had drained the Ragged n Ripe peaches and used the syrup to sweeten the ice cream.  The peaches were added to the mix and the lid returned until it would turn no more.  The crank was removed and the tub and ice cream was covered with a heavy wool quilt and left to "ripen".  

We were told to go outside and play.  Of course that did not happen because we knew that at some point momma would remove the quilt and pull the paddle out.  Of course there was always a fight over whose turn it was to "lick the paddle".  That was solved by each one of us taking a turn.  But the glorious part was when all the licking was over, supper eaten, and the baby in bed, momma brought out the "Ice cream bowls."  As I recall they were glass and were a rather amber color with raised flowers of some sort.  Today I recognize them as "Depression Glass" and they are rather pricey to buy, but then they were plain ice cream dishes. 

When we each had our bowl we were given the coup de gras (or something like that), which was a saltine cracker.  You heard me, a plain saltine cracker.  The saltiness of the cracker and the sweetness of the ice cream combined to make the best memory in the world to this skinny little girl from Nickerson, Kansas.  I will never think of my mother with out the taste of homemade peach ice cream.  

Over the course of the years on Strong Street, the peach tree became infested with bores.  The tree died, mother went to business school and got a job in Hutchinson, Kansas at some investment company.  Life was never the same after that.  We had running water and electricity and a car.  All the finery's life had to offer.  

I have three ice cream makers down stairs and before Covid became a part of our lives, I used to make ice cream at our church and have an open house.  The church wanted to make it a fund raiser, but I was just searching for a link back to my past. Life is sure funny, isn't it?  Peach ice cream was not a big hit at the ice cream socials and that kind of makes me sad.  

Ice Cream comes from the store and is in a box.   I do not think they even make peach ice cream, but I can taste it just like I was setting on the porch on Strong Street and mother was inside with dad.  I can see my sisters and brother and when I look into their eyes, I know the meaning of complete bliss!  

Nothing will ever take away my memories!    

The peach tree over the shed

It is spring and so I am looking out my office window at the Cherry tree that has bloomed there for many years.  Never had a cherry, but blooms any way.  Beside it is the Apricot tree.  And in the front yard is the bare place where two Peach trees used to be.  Only one of them ever made peaches although they stood side by side.  The one on the east bloomed, but was barren.  Oh, but the one on the west had the biggest, juiciest peaches God ever put on this big earth.  Bushels of them.  And the wind would thin the peaches and we still would harvest enough to feed us and enough to can for the winter.  In Colorado, that only happens about once every 7 years because it inevitably freezes.  Eventually the bores got bad and the trees had to be taken out and burned.
Ah, but the Peach tree I am thinking of today was back in Nickerson, Kansas, 60 years ago.  It was out the back door and across the drive.  It had probably been a seed that was thrown down and grew to adult hood hanging over the back of the shed.  It seemed to be the only fruit tree that I recall, except for the Mulberry  tree that kept our feet dyed purple all summer. ( And for the record, the birds all pooped purple that time of year.)
But back to the Peach tree.  In Kansas we had better luck with things not freezing in the spring and that Peach tree was no exception!  It did not fascinate the other kids nearly as much as it did me.  I would wait for the blooms to dry up and then search for signs of fruit.  I was always rewarded at some point in time with tiny peaches "setting on".   Now trust me here...if you have ever lived in a small town, you know that there is not a lot to do.  We could lay in the weeds and spy on the neighbors, chase the chickens, walk around the block, or we could watch those peaches growing.  Mother was forever telling me, "You don't be eating those until they are big and change color.  You will have the worst belly ache of your life."
Well, now that was like throwing gas on the fire.  The more she cautioned me, the more I could taste that peach.  (Oh, mother, if you are looking down on me, I do not blame you in any way.  You tried to save me from myself ) 
The cemetery was about a quarter of a mile from our house and that was another favorite place to play.  I remember once flying a kite and it got loose and sailed over the cemetery, but the string caught in a tree.  It was too high up for me to climb and get it loose so I had to leave it.  The next day it was crashed and broken.  So much for the kite.
Mother always planted a garden and one of the main things she grew was Yams.  She planted them on top of furrows and ran water down the ditches.  I remember once it was my job to run the water and I was standing on a board watching the water run in and a big spider ran up my leg and I killed him on my knee.  I have always been terrified of spiders and that did not help me get over it either.
Back to the Peach tree.  I controlled myself pretty well, but when the peaches were about the size of  a small tangerine, I thought I could see a hint of color on them.  Had to hold it up to the light and turn it this way and that, but, yes it was a little less green on this side.  So I bit into it.  The first bite was not near as sweet as I thought it should be, so I took another bite and then picked another peach in case it was sweeter and had another bite or two.  To make a long story short, I am here to tell you that my mother was dead on about the effects of green peaches.  As I recall, there was a lot of severe pain and a goodly amount of diarrhea.  Mother was sure that my appendix were ready to burst and she was trying to find a ride to the hospital when one of my dear sisters reported that the "Peaches are ready cause Louella ate a whole bunch of them today."  There went any salvation I had of getting rid of this stomach ache in any way but letting the green peaches work their way through my system.
Odd part of this whole tale is even today Peaches are my favorite fruit.  And when the harvest comes in from the western slope, namely Palisade, I am in hog heaven.  Or should I say Peach heaven?  If ever there was a food fit for the Gods, it is a nice ripe, juicy sweet Palisade Peach.  I have heard that a Georgia Peach is the best fruit on earth, but give me a western slope peach any day.
I have come a long way from the ragged little urchin eating green peaches, nursing sick calves and burying birds under the neighbors tree, but that little girl still lives in the recesses of my mind with the tattle tale sisters and the ornery big brother.  I have heard it said that you can not go home, but I am just not sure I ever left.  I am many miles from that ramshackle house on Strong Street in Nickerson, Kansas, but in the blink of an eye I am up in that Peach tree, or in the hay loft jumping out into the hay pile, or shucking corn in the field behind the house.  Memory is a wonderful thing.

Oh, I been thwarted in my quest

Daughter called to remind me that I did not update you on what happened. The man I needed to talk to went to Denver today and I missed him. So I left a message and we will see if I get a phone call on Monday. Sure hope so. Maybe it can be resolved with no hard feelings. Maybe not. I emailed him and I was very tactful which was not my first gut reaction. But a few days of me cooling off may be a ploy on his part. We will see.
In the meantime I went off to the Ghost Walk on Union tonight. Went at 5:30, but it was 8:30 when I got home. Kind of fun, but a lot of walking. So I hurried home to the geese and they were very happy to see me and marched right into thier house. Good geese.
But tonight we have the tiniest of Crescent moons and it is blood red. It was so beautiful it almost broke my heart. I do love the moon. When Bret was little and lived far away and missed me I used to tell him that all he had to do was look at the moon and he would always know that I was looking at the same moon. Now I do not think he knows there is a moon.
Ok, I shall go gaze at the moon and eat some peaches and then I am off to bed. Just wanted to let you know that I know nothing.

It snowed last night. We need 6 more!

Here is my rose bush all mashed out by the snow!  Of course that was this morning and now it is evening and all of the snow is melted.  This is what is known as Spring Time in the Rockies!  This is the time of year when, no matter how much you are tempted you do not plan anything that entails getting in the car and driving somewhere.  There is a very good chance that, despite the fact that I just shaved my legs and wore my shorts all day today, I may very well be snowed in tomorrow morning, like today.

I had planned on going to Colorado Springs this morning to have lunch with a friend, but when I woke up in the middle of the night last night and chanced to look out my window, I knew I would be staying here doing the at home thing today.  So I did.  Life throws me lots of curves. Like I just uploaded 3 pictures of the snow, but 2 of them are out in cyberville somewhere and I will probably never see them again. But there is always the chance that when I hit the publish button, they will miraculously appear.  Or not.

According to the Indian Lore, we still have 6 more snows coming. Kind of hate that because the buds on the Apricot Tree are just ready to open.  Maybe they will bloom really fast before the next snow gets here.  We usually get a fruit crop about once seven years.  Since I don't care for Apricots, they do better than the Peach Trees which got bores and died early.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it!