The Peach Tree Essay -- Observation Essay, Descriptive Essay

The Peach Tree When I reminisce about my childhood, the fondest memories I have revolve around food. We often went on picnics to the beach. There at the water's edge, my father would struggle to light the charcoal in the wind that kept both the hot dogs and the kids cold. My mothers' anise-sweetened bread was the perfect match for ham every Easter morning, afternoon, and the days that followed. On my birthday we always had gnocchi, fluffy pillows of pasta that melted in our mouths, tossed with an ethereal tomato sauce. In August we had peaches and not just any peaches, peaches from our peach tree. I loved our peach tree. I love the memory of that tree. In retrospect, the peach tree was an integral part of my childhood. I cannot recall when we first got the peach tree. It seems as if it was always there in the backyard. I do know that it was a gift from my aunt and uncle who worked at Del Monte's Agricultural Research Facility. Whether it was a rare or special breed, I wonder. The fruit was so sweet that I can't imagine Del Monte choosing such a fine specimen only to douse it in heavy simple syrup. Whatever its parentage, it was our good fortune to receive such a tree; it produced the sweetest, most succulent peaches I've ever eaten. The peach tree was special to us. It was, in fact, the only tree in our small yard. We grew through the seasons with it. Every February the first bits of pink showed through the tightly closed flower buds. By March, it was covered in pink, like overgrown cotton candy. In April, little flecks of green accented the pink blossoms and slowly pushed out the pink until a fresh, vibrant green blanketed the crown of the tree. During this transition, the lawn became a carpet of pink. Then slowly th... ... the old tree was producing only a few runt-sized fruit. One winter my parents cut down the tree. It left a scar on the lawn and a barren space in the yard. I hadn't thought much about that old tree for some time. It was the peach tree, after all, along with my grandparents' vegetable garden that planted the seed, so to speak, of my passion for the garden. The first fruit trees I planted in my own backyard were peaches. When I told my sisters that I was writing about the peach tree, they both smiled a familiar smile. For a moment, they were transported to another place and time. And I knew that it wasn't simply nostalgia seen through the nearsighted eyes of memory, it was real. In the years that have followed I have never found a peach as large, juicy and luscious as the ones from our tree. It may have been Del Monte's secret special breed, but I think it was more.