The Sandpoint Eater: What a peach

By Marcia Pilgeram
Reader Staff

I’ll admit, to most folks, that nothing compares to the sweet aroma of plump, ripe peaches. But, to be honest, I’ve always had a complicated relationship with them.

While peach season is upon us, and everyone else is waxing poetically about the scent of a perfectly ripe peach, the velvet (cringe) skin, and that warm, sticky juice that trickles down your chin on a hot summer day, the smell of peaches triggers a lot of unpleasant memories for me. Weird, right?

It all goes back to my young Montana bride days on the ranch. Canning — a.k.a. “putting up fruit” — was definitely women’s work, and it usually fell between haying and the fall cattle roundup, both of which brought extra hands to help and extra mouths to feed.

I was a newbie at canning. Heck, back then, I was a newbie at a lot of things. For example, I had to learn where all the farm equipment supply stores were in Butte, Missoula and Helena — three towns equidistant from the ranch. I’d head out with two hot, whiny, napless toddlers, hoping to find whatever supplies were needed — swather blades, guards or twine — in one of those towns. Once in a while, I got lucky and found what I needed in Deer Lodge, a quick half-hour drive away.

It was usually on one of those taxing days that my dear mother-in-law, Monah, would show up at the back door, lugging a couple of cases of Washington peaches. Every area has its celebrated “peach man,” and I wasn’t a fan of the one who frequented Deer Lodge or Drummond. Monah was notoriously frugal and, looking back, I’m sure she had an “in” with her peach man, cutting deals, probably buying seconds. 

“They’re turning,” she’d say. “You’ll need to get them put up right away.”

With two toddlers tugging at my legs, I’d get to work, eager to please my hypercritical mother-in-law. 

I still remember the hot kitchen, the sticky floors, the endless peeling, the occasional broken jar in the canner and the nagging question: Was all this labor really worth it just to have a few rows of jars silently staring at me from the basement shelves, judging my efforts? But I labored on.

Regardless, I became pretty proficient in the art of canning. Before long, there was nothing I couldn’t spice up and pack neatly into a sterile jar. To this day, Ryanne says some of her earliest memories are of the pantry shelves in our basement, lined with jars filled with the colorful fruits of summer’s labor, neatly put up for the long winter months ahead. Occasionally, when time allowed, I even entered some of my efforts into nearby county fairs, and often came home with a ribbon or two. 

Now, readers, it’s time to divulge my big, dark peach secret that I rarely share: I suffer from haptodysphoria. That’s right, folks — I have a peach-fuzz phobia. For years, I avoided them. Other fruits got my attention: apples, pears, myriad berries and cherries. But peaches? Nope. I was done. Until, for better or worse, canning entered my life.

Some folks find peach skin “velvety.” To me, it crosses into fingernails-on-a-chalkboard territory. I couldn’t bear to bite into a peach like an apple and turn away when others do so. No, thank you. My peaches require blanching, peeling and handling with asbestos gloves.

It’s a problem. What chef/food ambassador/culinary maven has an aversion to peaches? And of course, everyone in my orbit loves peaches! Peach cobbler, peach ice cream, peach pie, peach jam — if it has peaches in it, they’ll lick their plates clean and circle back for seconds. 

So, I’ve learned to make peace with peaches. These days, I’m realizing that peaches aren’t the enemy. They’re nearly everyone’s favorite summer fruit. I’ve learned to live with my fuzz phobia; and, luckily, I’ve aged out of canning, happily passing all my equipment on to Ryanne. 

Now, you might find an occasional small basket (not a bushel) of ripe summer peaches, waiting to live their best life in a family-favorite recipe.

Yes, I’ve decided it’s time to let bygones be bygones. This summer, I’m giving peaches their place at my table. And if it keeps my family smiling, well, that’s as sweet as this tasty peach cake recipe.

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Peaches and cream streusel cake

This cake is moist and delicious, served warm or cold. Go all out with a scoop of ice cream or a dollop of whip cream. Bake in a square or round 9” pan.  Serves 6-8.