With all of the ways that a person can capture a picture these days, it is shocking that between my mom-in-law and I, we didn't get a single photo as proof for the story I'm about to tell you.
Picture it: pre-dawn on a Saturday. I am carbo-loading for an event that I've never trained for. My M.I.L. Robbie and I are going to the Peach Sale at Harry and David. This is where, in an organized fashion like Black Friday, peaches are dumped in low lying bins and spread out in the parking lot for all citizens of the valley to forage. Luckily, Robbie had been the year before and came prepared with boxes and a furniture mover. Not a dolly for a few measly boxes but one of those carpeted platforms with four casters. We were getting real here.
We waited in a bulging line at 6:00 a.m. for the bull horn man to bellow: GO! We picked a bin and dug in. Filling over 10 boxes and wheeling them in line, I waited while Robbie went back for more. Yes, more. After more or less an hour, I got to the front where we weighed each box for a grand total of...... drum roll......... 542 pounds of peaches. A steal for $54.20. We were the highest total that day. I should hope so.
We drove home cackling about our good fortune. And then gasping over what the hell we were thinking. I mean, I like peaches but c'mon. Once home, we unloaded and sorted in levels of ripeness. And then we proceeded to can for an entire week.
Now ninety cans a piece later, we are set for all of eternity. Cobbler anyone?
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