| Current mood: |  amused |
Peaches
One of my fondest childhood memories is of going with my father to buy peaches. We owned a small family store near St. Louis. Each summer my father would make a trip and usually I was fortunate enough to be allowed to tag along. We started very early in the morning and drove for what seemed miles & miles. The roads were highways leading to two lane county roads which led to gravel roads, finally ending abruptly at the Mississippi River. We would stop & sit in our truck, watching the flowing river. The first time I went, I thought we were lost. But then another car arrived, then another and another. Then I saw an odd looking flat boat with ropes around it coming toward us. It was a ferryboat! A man on board directed each car, one by one until all were parked on the ferry. Everyone had to remain in his vehicle until we were underway. Once underway, I explored the ferry under my father's watchful eye. I loved to feel the fine spray from the paddlewheel on my face. Once I even got to go up to the tiny room where the captain sat at the controls.
Bargaining
Upon reaching the Illinois bank, our journey resumed. My father put me under strict orders not to comment about the flavor of any peaches I might be offered. My father stopped at one orchard after another until he finally felt satisfied that he was getting the best possible deal. At each orchard, a farmer would give each of us a taste of his peaches. They said things like, "isn't that the sweetest peach you ever tasted?" or "you want your daddy to buy some of these peaches, don't you sweetheart?" I only said "thank you" in reply. After a few years of this, if I preferred a particular peach, I would reply, "thank you VERY MUCH!" to which my father would raise an eyebrow & grin.
The return trip
The best part of these trips besides spending one-on-one time with my father, was the return across the river. The ferryboat went faster, because it had to make more trips with all of us laden with fruit. Once underway, we got out of the truck and finally, my father would select a big ripe peach and hand it to me to eat. He always assured me I could "wash up" afterward, as he knew I couldn't abide stickiness on my hands & face. After I ate my fill of juicy peaches, he held his clean handkerchief out in the spray of the paddlewheel until it was wet & we both washed our hands and faces with it.
These are some of my favorite memories. I used to tell this story to my boys when they were small and restless. I think they still enjoy hearing it from time to time!
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