{20} Peach.

This past few days in our household, we’ve had a situation. You see, my boys went to stay in a little cabin we own a handful of hours away, and a few years back, we planted there some grapes.

This year was the first year they’ve really properly fruited.

“There were four bunches of grapes,” my husband proclaimed, “and I put two in the fridge and told everyone, ‘THOSE ARE FOR MUM.’”

But when they got home to me, 100 percent of the grapes were mysteriously missing.

“I mean, they even grow in shareable packages,” I lectured my children. “You don’t even need a knife!”

Both looked more delighted than remorseful.

And then I remembered:

I wasn’t going to tell you this story, not because I am ashamed, but because it wasn’t a story I’d thought to tell.

We have an orchard in front of our house that produces a sizeable fruit explosion every year.

Apples are our most reliable resource, but we’ve also gently tend to peaches and apricots, and a sprinkling of others. So far, the more exotic fruits have arrived in disappointingly tiny batches. We just take it in our stride.

There was one tree though that put up a particularly good effort this time round. A brief count came in at half a dozen. I casually walked past and noted one particularly good-looking peach hanging from the tree.

I gave it the kind of squeeze you do when you’re an Official Peach Tester.

‘Not yet,’ I noted, ‘but I will most definitely be coming back tomorrow.’

Tomorrow came and let the record show that I was starving. I managed to find a small herd of plums that were too heavy to carry, so I ate them all instead.

And then I remembered:

That giant peach.

As far as peaches go, she really was a beast. She was truly enormous.

Answered back with just the right amount of firmness when squeezed.

Completely unpecked by birdlings.

As you can imagine, I was elated.

It did occur to me as I drew her closer to my mouth that I was potentially breaking an unspoken family rule:

That when there is a limited number of fruits, there’s automatic sharing. That you must cut it up and hand it round because that’s The Right Thing To Do.

But I didn’t feel like sharing. I wasn’t feeling in any way sacrificial and quite felt that I deserved it. So, I did the next best thing:

I sat down and ate that whole massive peach in one short sitting. When I finished, I was almost over full.

Wandering back inside, the family were gathered round the kitchen table.

‘I just ate the best peach I’ve ever had,’ I told them, juice all over my jumper and possibly up the sides of my face.

Immediately, the room fell silent.

‘Was that the peach overhanging the fence?’ They answered back. ‘Flynn’s peach? He’s been checking on it every day.’

I did a quick scan of my mental google maps and confirmed that indeed that was the peach.

‘Mum! I Can’t believe you would do that!! That was MY Peach.’

‘He has been really excited about that peach,’ the rest of the room echoed, as though that was something I should automatically know.

Perhaps, to feel guilty would have been the most right thing in the moment.

Perhaps I was high on peach juice.

Perhaps it was just a really good peach and it made all other consequences worth it.

Perhaps all three.

But at the end of the grape conversation, I added:

I’m so glad I ate that peach.

It still was 100% worth it.