Peaches, y'all

I don't often claim the South.

Yes, I was raised southern by a South Carolina southern belle and a hippie drummer in eastern Montana.

We brought sweet tea to the mountains, y'all.

Yes, I go to Steeplechase every year in my big straw hat, wear pearls with my gym clothes, bleed red and black and cheer on the SEC, and praise God to bless yawls heart.

But I don't often claim the South.

But there is a moment you wait for all year. Once the weather gets warm you can feel it coming.

You drive out to the orchard and the smell gets you.

Although its still too early - most are too firm, you search for just one.

You fill your basket and contemplate filling two.

You bite into you first sweet Southern peach of the season and let the juice drip down your arms.

And just for awhile, you claim the South.

Peaches are here y'all!