I finally added that quintessential summer dessert, the peach pie, to my baking repertoire. Other than disliking the tactile feeling of peach fuzz when eating this fruit whole, I am not sure why I avoided making this delicious blend of fruit, sugar, and cinnamon. An omission now rectified using Momma’s recipe via Betty Crocker.
I have fond memories of Momma buying fresh Colorado peaches by the crate; each precious, ripe orb wrapped in soft pale-yellow tissue paper. Those delicate papers (in my doll playing days) were transformed from protective practicality to fairy fluttering doll dresses.
Each crate provided a sufficient quantity of ripe fruit that a portion could simply be eaten. Tasting as if fresh from the tree and bitten into like an apple, we leaned forward slightly to allow plump juices to inevitably dribble down our chins and drip on the concrete. But a large portion filled double crusted pies. Some of the pies were baked in the cool morning hours and then enjoyed in the early evening with vanilla ice cream and others, oven-ready, were frozen. These Momma retrieved on harsh winter days, and they served as memories of summer warmth. She always saved one for Dad’s February 16 birthday when it became a birthday pie complete with candles.
Bon Appétit!
Knit+ Librarian 
Weirdly they played on the radio today Peaches song by The Presidents of the United States of America (rock band). My husband commented about how we hadn’t heard that song in years and I said peach pie is a thing in America I never tried when I lived there (for a year)! Then you’ve posted about peach pie! Spooky!!
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I can just imagine eating a piece of your luscious peach pie! Great story shared with your friends. Thanks for igniting our memories of a mouth-watering summer peach pie and providing the visceral images of eating it whole, dripping down our faces onto our clothes. I clearly remember doing that as a child . . . and as an adult.
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Sounds delicious!!
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