Summer

I’d flown to New York for too short a time and then extended my stay because I had too many things to do and then flew home. Crowded/full flights both ways, a little delay, and by the time I reached L.A., I was flat on my back. Jet lag. No. Fever.

And for me a completely curious thing - since I think the cure for the stomach flu is a chili dog or a hamburger please with French fries - absolutely no appetite. None. I was nervous about that.

I didn’t eat anything for two days – don’t discuss my metabolism, two hours is a long time for me.

But by the third day, I still didn’t feel like I could eat anything.

Unaccustomed to any processed food, maybe blame it on the “cheese plate” if you can call it that that comes packaged on the plane if they put enough on and you can in fact purchase one, I felt only the freshest thing would do. Not even chicken soup. (I have a theory by the way that chicken soup is not a curative but quite the opposite, but that’s another story.)

All I wanted was some kind of broth, no, something slightly more substantial. Home-made vegetable soup. The easiest thing in the world.

One of the many benefits of growing up in Middle Georgia is knowing where your food comes from. Knowing who grew it, where they grew it, and how they grew it. I cannot think of a better “know your farmer” situation than knowing the Pearson clan, especially since they grow this Farmer’s favorite jeweled delights of summer’s bounty – peaches!

Now that peach season is in full tilt, I journeyed out to Zenith and Lee Pope, Georgia (suburbs of the metropolis Fort Valley, mind you) with some out of town friends. They wanted peaches and I knew just the spot. This farm is my go to spot for peaches. I send my clients “thank you” baskets from this farm full of peaches, pecans, or whatever is in season, for I know that a gift from their farm is always in good taste. I wanted my friends to see the old schoolhouse turned packing shed, taste the best peach ice cream, and experience the sights, smells, and tastes this place offers. If you’re anywhere in Middle Georgia this summer, do stop by!

We traversed and travailed up US Highway 341 from Kathleen to the farmland straddling Peach and Crawford counties where the soil is imbued with the elements and nutrients favorable for peaches. In fact, this belt of soil in western Middle Georgia is so conducive for peach production, that the area has donned our fair state with its marvelous nickname - “Peach State.”

I figure I’ve eaten about 20 pounds of watermelon this summer. Fortunately, it’s 92% water and 0% fat, so my clothes still fit fine.

Even as a kid, I ate a lot of watermelon. Everyone in my family did. I can remember my Dad, his face beet-red from the heat, coming through our back door beaming as he was carrying a colossal watermelon. He always did the same thing: set it down on the kitchen counter and proudly announced its weight – 19 and 1/2 pounds! 23 pounds! Like his lobsta, the bigger it was, the better he liked it.

My brother Chris was always the one to cut the watermelon (seeing as none of the rest of us had his patience). With skills of a surgeon, he extracted every last seed while keeping the melon’s flesh intact. Come to think of it, I don't remember ever seeing seedless watermelons when I was a kid. Did they exist back then?

It's rhubarb season. Or is it?

When I was a kid, rhubarb season was usually a couple of months long. You didn't have to buy it at the market because half of your neighbors grew it in their yards. I remember going to my great aunt's house where those crimson stalks stood at attention along the side of her house. I'd rip one right of the ground and bite into it like it was a carrot. I'd do it till my eyes watered, my lips went numb, and my belly turned sour. Ah, those were good days.

Nowadays, I have to rush to get my rhubarb fix. And rhubarb should not be rushed.

Since my belly isn't as steely as it used to be, I forego raw rhubarb for stewed, sweetened dishes like crumbles, crisps, and compotes. I have made many rhubarb compotes, but this one is special. The rhubarb is tempered by sugar and enhanced by freshly squeezed orange juice, aromatic ginger, and sweet blueberries.