Georgia O’Keeffe Peach and Glass 1927

Dear Georgia,

Today I bit into a peach that was not entirely ripe and I remembered how my father told me to harvest the peaches before the frost (or was it wind) one of the times I visited him in his last year. I think there was a storm brewing and he said we’d better collect them before they all got knocked off and bruised. I can’t remember if it was August or October. One of those times I was headed into town to the grocery store – this must have been February – and I asked him – can I get you anything? Yes, he said, get me a five pound bag of manure, would you? That made me laugh, but it was no joke – he wanted it to start artichoke shoots in the greenhouse. Later he sent me pictures of the artichokes and I felt proud that I had contributed the poop.

Your peach looks gorgeously ripe, Georgia.




One thought on “Peaches

  1. Beautiful. The conversation between declining but optomistic father and adult daughter touches my heart. Simple ideas and requests, but they leave a lasting impression. I had some like that with my dad, and I know you had many with yours. Little morsels of happiness, succulent, like a ripe peach.


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