The Peach Tree -- a True Story

Wasn't the fresh fruit beautiful this year? ... golf-ball sized strawberries, beautiful blueberries and every other sort of fresh, succulent treat in Nature's cornucopia. During this warm, golden season, I like to remember Grandma Bowen's peach tree.

How It All Began

Grandma and Grandpa Bowen's brick bungalow was a corner property at the intersection of Ardmore and Kenilworth Avenues in Villa Park, Illinois. Back when it was a rural village, one day a young man walked by eating a fresh peach. In those days, refuse containers were scarce so he might be forgiven for tossing the pit into a corner of Grandma's yard. Everyone else was too busy to pick it up or perhaps didn't notice it right away. Certainly nobody encouraged its survival but as it lay there in the sun -- blessed by God, watered by occasional rain and undisturbed by animals -- the pit germinated, putting down roots and pushing up tiny branches and leaves. The seedling stood there for years, through summer sun, spring rains and even vicious Illinois winter "cold snaps." By the time I had joined the clan, the peach tree was a bona fide survivor and profoundly ugly, or so it seemed to me back then.

For most of the year, it was short, ungainly and covered with sticky sap. Showtime occurred with a riot of blossoms in the Spring but the tree really redeemed itself in the summer growing season, when the peaches came in - beautiful golden pink clingstones grown to enormous size. Most people today never get a chance to taste a peach which has ripened and "sugared up" on a branch. To eat a mature fruit which has just been picked is a memorable experience and Grandma Bowen's peaches were no exception.

We all waded through peaches in the summer as though there were no tomorrow -- freshly sliced and slathered with milk, to say nothing of Peach Pie, Peach Cobbler, Peach Ice Cream and just about any other gol-darned thing you could stick a PEACH in. Grandma pickled and preserved peaches, transforming them into Peach Jam. She gave my mother bags of peaches to take out to St. Charles, to give to HER parents. After we had reached the peached-out stage and fruit was still arriving in waves, Grandma lined her back sidewalk with half-peck wooden bushel baskets full of peaches and offered brown paper bags to anyone walking by who might want to take some fruit home. Grandma's peaches were widely appreciated for years until the little peach tree came to the end of its life and died..

What This Story Means to Me

In this modern scientific age, we tend to credit the botanical success of a peach tree to good genetic design coupled with rich prairie soil, optimal weather and sheer good luck but the bountiful tree really owed its existence to ... the young man who walked by and tossed the pit into Grandma's yard. Without him, none of this would have happened. He passed into our lives, mostly unnoticed, and perhaps never seen again in the neighborhood. Surely, he could not have guessed the impact which would result from a single casual act.

So it is, I think, that most of us don't realize the profound difference we make to this world as we pass through. To fully appreciate the impact of even our smallest actions can be an inspiring and encouraging thought but also convey a sense of responsibility as well. During this golden season or any other time the year, little things really can mean a lot, even if we are just passing through a neighborhood once and may not walk that way again.