Get 'Em While You Ca--...Oh...Never Mind.

Someone...or something...stole our peaches. Right off the tree. Co-incidentally, this occurred within 48 hours of my having put a not-so-subtle sign, reading “Do Not Pick!” on the lower branches…meant for the inconsiderate landscaper-lawn-mowing-guys-that-don’t-speak-any-English that helped themselves to about half of last year’s meager little crop.

With peach-everything recipes just waiting to be discovered…and our taste buds watering in sweet anticipation, I didn’t feel that I should take any chances on losing any of our precious harvest to those weed-whacking scoundrels yet again. (Stop snickering...this is serious!)

Ex-husband says I probably drew attention to the tree by adding the handwritten sign, (written in black sharpie and encased in a gallon-sized baggie...as I had the foresight to consider the distinct possibility of rain between then and the eventual ripening of our bounty...see how important this was to me?...and carefully hung it from the branches of said tree) subsequently causing someone to possibly come onto my front lawn and relinquish my little tree of all its not-quite-ripe-but-almost-there booty.

Is he correct in this assumption?? Or is this clearly a case of peach-tree-envy?

But, more important is the bigger question: What kind of a person would do such a thing?

Or, indeed....was it a person at all??

(I can already hear Margarete’s voice in my head, saying “Okaaaay...go to Adams and get a big 'ole bag ‘o peaches…how much could they possibly be in the middle of summer?”)

But, THAT’S NOT THE POINT.

I realize that I do not know how to cook. Or bake. Or clean, evidently.

Still...not the point. This is America. I’m supposed to have a CHOICE. An option, if you will. Maybe this was my chance to shine...maybe I would have wound up making a peach-something recipe that would have had Martha ringing my bell...promising me she'd teach me everything she knew about cooking if only I'd share the secret to that magical, undeniably exraordinary taste...(hey...it could happen...)

I have half a dozen store-bought peaches in my fridge as we speak….those dirty-rotten-thieves left me ONE of the REAL DEAL:

….Can you tell which one is from our tree??

Well, that’s still not really the point.

As a sidenote, it’s interesting to note the differing reactions of those around me:

Ex-husband: “You brought it on yourself.” (Ex.)
Connor: “I think a herd of deer came through and had a feast.” (Can you see me smiling?)
Taylor: “I think the dirty-rotten-bastard that lives next door picked them with his friends in the middle of the night…just to piss us off. I never liked him.” (If I were still married, this is the part where I’d refer to Taylor as “your son” to hubby.)

Jackie’ll be horrified and heartbroken…I just know it. (I’ve dutifully left her a message on her machine in anticipation of this.)

Joyce’ll say “Oh, bummer.” (I’m not sure she’d say this, but it sounds like something she’d say.)

As for me? I’m bewildered…uncomprehending….confused….looking for signs of a singular catastrophic freak-of-nature that might’ve just wiped out “our crop”...leaving the rest of the neighborhood unscathed…doesn't that happen sometimes in....say, Kansas??

Crap…..who would do such a thing??