Leaves were turning to gold as I opened the trunk of our car. Voices drifted over to me on the wind, discussing the cost of bushels and quality of produce. I smiled up the drive as my wife, Merideth, discussed our most recent purchase.
“They’re ready!” She called to me, waving her arm excitedly. Next to her two folding tables laden with fuzzy pink peaches sat, waiting to be paid for.
I patted the head of a black labrador that panted in the morning sun. He thumped his tail and smiled up at me with kind eyes.
“You guys have quite the haul this year,” I said to him. He ‘woofed’ with pride and rolled onto his belly. I smiled and tickled the dog’s belly.
“Honey come on! We’ve got to get going!” Merideth called. She was excited to get back home and get cooking. With 100 pounds of peaches, what else was one going to do?
“Better get a move on,” I said as the lab woofed his thanks. Standing up I walked up the front lawn and grabbed a cardboard box filled to the brim with fruit. A smell wafted into my nose, transporting me back through twenty different autumns.
I felt wreathed in memories as my childhood friends laughed over bowls of cobbler and ice cream, Grandma’s canned peaches and toast in their garden listening to the sounds of the coming evening, my first date with Merideth eating fresh peach ice cream and laughing.
Merideth laid a hand on my shoulder, “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,’ I said with a sniff, “Just remembering.”
She smiled at me and picked up another box.
“Let’s go home and get baking.”
Nodding I headed for the car.