Shelf Life of a Fresh Peach
By mid-August, I am over it. I start dreaming of hoodies, and the crunch of fallen leaves underfoot, and tangy-crisp air filling my lungs. But I also gorge on fresh peaches, because alas, this luxury will soon be gone for another year. Some earthly delights transcend time and space, staying with us in memory forever. A fresh peach is one such delight. Lately I’ve been pondering the shelf life of a fresh peach.
I volunteer at a local hospice house, sitting at the bedside of a stranger who is transitioning from this life to the next. It’s a sacred space. We can thank the Celtic Christians for giving us words for this experience. The Celts call these “thin places,” where heaven and earth come so close, you can see through the veil that separates them.
At the end of life, the dying person straddles this world and the next in a thin place. They see both future and past, and those of us who bear witness can only wonder at the visions they behold. We get hints.
They may call out a joyful greeting to their mother, long since deceased. Do they see her beckoning from the other side? My cousin said her dying mother called her Margie, the name of her best friend from high school. She also talked about events on the farm, as if they had happened just yesterday. Perhaps in that thin place she was seven years old again, in a twirly dress, laughing up at her brother on the tractor. Who can say?
When it’s our time in that thin place, where will our minds return? Will your subconscious self pull a summer snapshot from its memory bank, a scene wild and carefree, when all the world was possibility? I suspect mine will. And the scene may very well involve that pinnacle of summer perfection — a fresh peach. Here’s how I imagine it:
Fresh peach season ends soon, my friends. Don’t miss it! Even in these last dog days of summer, joy awaits. And who knows? Today’s fresh peach may have a very long shelf life indeed.