Subscribe now!(Submitted by CSA Member Beth M.)
They have captured the sun of high summer,
All reds and golds and sticky warmth.
And their fragrance stirs a blood memory
Of things I’ve never learned but always knew.
The knowledge of my mother, and her mother,
And generations before,
Who had to save the sun of summer for winter’s stingy light.
As the sweet aroma fills the room, they come to me–
These woman who share my blood
And my need to hold back the dark.
I feel their presence — their hands guide mine,
I see my eyes in their eyes, feel their hearts in my chest.
Their hands know these tasks and their touch is true and sure.
I abandon myself to the memory of this work that I was born knowing.
I am cradled in the arms of this unending line of women
As we work together to preserve the sun.
When the days shorten they will come again,
Because I have preserved their memory,
Along with these peaches,
To nourish myself in winter.
I, too, “put up” peaches with my mother-in-law. We had to make sure that we waited for the free stone peaches to be available, from mid-August on. We were fooled some years! They were wonderful days–each others company, hard work, sweating in a non-air conditioned kitchen, but to have a peach pie in January was the most wonderful thing in the world. Thank you for your poem. It has to be kept to read over and over again.