are starting to fall on the road outside our house, plopping down when nobody’s looking, and smashed by the first car that goes by. These are the sweet ones, not the astringent ones that taste best after a hard freeze. The end of summer persimmons, silently ripening and dropping.
Other fruits of the season are the local figs – these, a gift from Carol Bean, at the St. Michaels Farmer’s Market on Saturday.
And the peaches – these, delicious peaches from Blades Orchard in Preston. They were hail damaged, so extra cheap at market. Here they are, soon to be mashed and cooked down into winter’s breakfast jam – stretching the season’s scents to recall on cold mornings ahead.
And my favorite summer fruit, popping up one by one each day in the cherman garden – the tiny but powerful taste of the sun-gold tomato.
Savoring summer’s sweetness.
Local eggs, which are being cooked up with last evening’s perch catch, right now, as I type this. The kitchen, filled with the scents of perch, onion and eggs, cooked in butter, served on toast.