Granddaughter's Aurora and Natalie
It's peach season in the Southern Appalachians! Here is one of my family's all time favorites and a poem to make it even more personal.
1
¾ cups flour (or any combination of gluten free flours)
¼
cup cornmeal
1
¼ cups raw organic sugar
1-teaspoon
salt
3
teaspoons baking powder
¼
teaspoon cardamom
1
½ sticks unsalted organic butter
2
cups organic buttermilk
3
cups peeled, pitted and chunked fresh white peaches
1-cup
fresh wild black raspberries or blackberries
Ground
fair trade cinnamon
Preheat
oven to 350ยบ
Melt
butter in oblong baking dish in the oven and then remove. Whisk dry ingredients
together and then mix with buttermilk to make batter. Pour batter over melted
butter. Spoon peaches evenly over
batter and place berries in-between. Sprinkle top with cinnamon and sugar. Bake
55 minutes.
Peaches
by Thea Summer Deer ©2003
The Peach Tree is barren
having recently born her fruit
She stands with empty arms
against a sunset blush with
peach
I thank her for her bounty so
sweet
dropped at my feet
Images of peaches;
my newborn daughter’s vagina
covered with the most delicate
of peach fuzz
so tender and juicy
these fruits of the earth
and my belly
my favorite camp counselor’s
name was Peachy
my mother’s peach cobbler
recipe
adapted to my own
things passed down
from limb to ground
I receive
and give thanks
and pause for just a moment
to ponder empty arms
after a season of growing fruit
It was Miami, 1975
and the record store on Dixie
was named, “Peaches” with
rows and rows of LP’s in peach
crates.
John Prine sang from somewhere
overhead
“Blow up our TV’s. . .
feed ‘em all peaches,
and let ‘em find Jesus
all on their own,”
but who would remember
the 70’s that came after the
60’s
or the Navajo peach trees
before the Long Walk
or life in the country
before they took away our farms
and so it is
I ponder empty arms
