Peach cobbler

Our peach tree does us a disservice each summer by tossing its goods to the grass where they quickly rot or fall prey to birds.

I have cursed this tree for years, but my lovely wife collects the survivors, or she climbs a ladder to pluck directly from the branches. She eats some, and she gives the remainder to friends and family.

These are puny little peaches compared to those I recall from my childhood in Georgia, which is called the Peach State with reason.

I know a peach when I see one. These are pretenders.

My maternal grandmother, named Osie, and her maid, named Willie, who was married (more or less) to the yardman, named Cap, often cooked peach cobbler.

Just the other day something marvelous happened. As I was picking up rotten peaches from the grass — if you don’t, they go putrid — a distinct aroma of peach reached up and smacked me. It had never happened here before.

And there I was, back in Georgia, a billion years and a million miles away. The kitchen window was open, and there was the huge table abutting it.

The pack of us — mother, father, grandmother, grandfather, sister and myself — were eating peach cobbler.

It was the big noon meal, and it included lemonade from real lemons. The snap beans would have come from across the dirt road.  The corn from our fields.

The beef or pork would have come from the freezer, a beast grandfather had butchered.

From 1945 to 1951, we all lived in that house in the country, a house built by my great-grandfather in the 1890s and which remained in the family till the 1980s.

There must have been some negatives to those times, but I was too young to notice. I can still taste the snap beans, the corn, the lemonade and the cobbler.

We made our own ice cream too.

18 thoughts on “Peach cobbler”

  1. Nuttin’ like a fresh-off-the-tree peach! And well-made peach cobbler even better. We’ve had one farmer’s market basket of Texas peaches this year. From the grocery store, they never taste as good as they look!


  2. Good one, dear Felipe,

    So satisfying to come here and find new pieces. I am sad when you do not write–it is as if I have missed some little journey I have gotten accustomed to taking! I like your caravan style, and hint of gypsy and roots. Today over peach cobbler you touched my heart. Be well! Be Strong! Help harvest and distribute those peaches! And thanks.


    1. Ah yes! Those Georgia peaches are the real deal, unlike the unripe, pithy things they sell in grocery stores from who knows where. And fresh peach cobbler with homemade ice cream after a meal of snaps or green field peas, corn, vine-ripened tomatoes & cornbread. Need I say more?


      1. John: I tell my wife that peaches are better where I come from but, of course, she doubts it. She thinks these peaches are just peachy, but she doesn’t know any better. I guess I should leave her in her bliss.

        In my new part of the world, avocados are very good. However, tomatoes hereabouts are terrible.


    2. Ezra, I’m here to serve. After I abandoned that other website, I began to wonder where material would come from, but it’s not a problem so far. Caravan style. I like that way of looking at things. Thanks for the feedback, as ever.


  3. Isn`t it amazing how certain smells can transport us back in time? I could just see your whole family and Willie and Cap enjoying a delicious dinner. Ah, the smell of roast pork always reminds me of Christmas Eve. That is one of our traditional treats during the holidays. Wonder what we`ll be doing this Christmas. Actually, we might go to Vietnam, a place I had hoped to make it to someday. I hear they have beautiful beaches and the people are very friendly.

    Glad you enjoyed my news from Nagoya e-mail. I will keep sending them.

    Take care,


  4. You’re a “peach” to remind me of those magnificent southern meals I had in Mississippi when my mother-in-law was still alive. A meal of fresh snaps, field peas, fresh corn, watermelon and, of course, cornbread and cobbler — oh my gosh. She would always say, “Lawdy, I don’t know what I’m goin’ to cook, nothin’ here” and then the most amazing meal would appear. You brought back some sweet memories.


    1. Of course I am a peach, Ms. Babs, a Georgia peach even though I have not lived in Georgia since the age of 6 when my parents left the home in question and moved us to Jacksonville, Florida. My parents eventually moved back to Georgia. So did my sister. My daughter, who was not born in Georgia, has settled in Georgia with her hubby who’s not a Georgia boy either, but he is now. The whole puny gang of them except for me and my father’s only sister, my aunt, who has lived on an island off the coast of Maine for decades. Both sides of grandparents were born and died in Georgia.

      So even though I have not lived in Georgia much, I have returned a lot over my lifetime. Not much in recent years, however. It’s probable that I will never go back again, but who knows?

      We sure did eat well, however. Far tastier than I do now but likely less healthy. Those were fat-packed meals. However, with the exception of my maternal grandfather, they all lived into their 80s. My mother died at 90. So go figger.


  5. Well, you certainly paint an idyllic picture for us to enjoy!

    Hard work involved in raising and producing that feast, no doubt.

    But simpler times.

    100% organic

    Thank you…

    I am savoring the gathering in my mind, still.


  6. Good memories of good times. I’m still lucky enough to have a meal like that on a rare occasion, and it brings back similar childhood memories.

    Hard to beat a home-made peach cobbler with some vanilla ice cream…


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