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Life’s a Peach

by

Johnny Autry photo

A ripe peach sets such high expectations, doesn’t it? 

The anticipation of both ambrosial flavor and profuse juice is high. There must also be appropriate heft in the hand when lifted, a tender give in its fuzzy skin when pressed, and the emanating aroma of sweetness when gently sniffed. Peach eaters are taskmasters, expecting nothing short of sensory perfection from each specimen. When the demand meets the desire, the result—without any hint of hyperbole—is ecstasy. When it does not, however, the letdown feels profound, the hopes dashed. A mealy peach equals pure sabotage. It also offers a lesson in nonattachment and in learning to let go of predicted outcomes. 

I could argue that all I really need to know about homesteading I learned from some mealy peaches I encountered several summers ago. On the surface, everything indicated sheer delight. Tender but not too much so, these peaches smelled like a honeysuckle patch, always a good indicator of ripeness. I saw no brown spots or other visible blemishes. Figuring these peaches and I were good to go, I bit into one, excited about all that was to come. But a mealy texture and a bland, insipid flavor answered my enthusiasm. Presuming this peach was merely an interloper in the pound I’d purchased, I bit into the next, only to go through the same disappointment all over again. I was bereft, despondent, forlorn, all on account of the great expectations I’d placed on that bit of fruit. 

As a homesteader, I have learned the lesson of the mealy peach, so to speak, many times over. While the exterior may appear as though all is well, what lies beneath may be a different story. This is true whether we’re discussing fresh peaches, jars of strawberry jam, a flock of chickens, a wheel of cheese, or a hive of bees. It is equally true that all may be fine and dandy. The point is that you simply do not know. You followed all of the directions and considered all of the precautions, and yet, your jam jars may not seal, your crop of broccoli transplants could be quickly and devastatingly done asunder by flea beetles, your hive taken out by an early spring frost, or your beloved Barred Rock chicken fall prey to a marauding fox overnight.

Peaches have taught me the value of stating intentions, whether aloud or quietly and privately, inside the hopes and convictions of your heart. Then let go of any attachment to the outcome. While some things remain certain in life—the sun rises, the sun sets—many things do not. Over the years on my homestead, I’ve found that it is wonderful and wise to plan and plot and proceed as though things will turn out according to plan, but in the event they don’t, seek out the lesson. In the process, I will, over time, become a better gardener, a better animal steward, a better cheese maker and canner and bread maker. In the moment, choose another peach—or seek out a mentor older and wiser or particularly gifted at helping with the learning curve. 

Ultimately, for me, the homesteading life is rather peachy keen, no matter what happens when I take a bite.

Peach and Lavender Butter

While life undoubtedly presents the occasional dud peach (or other home attempt that doesn’t go as planned), come summertime, most offerings found in the Smoky Mountains prove exquisite. Every summer I make several batches of this peach and lavender butter, canning enough to provide for my needs and to give as gifts year-round. The floral hint from the lavender perfectly complements the sweetness of the peaches and sugar. 

— This recipe was originally published in Canning & Preserving with Ashley English: All You Need To Know to Make Jams, Jellies, Pickles, Chutneys & More, Lark Books, 2010). 

Makes 4-5 half-pints 

1. In a large pot of boiling water, place 4-5 half-pint canning jars. Bring the water to a boil, turn off the heat, and cover with a lid. In a small pot, place 1-2 inches of water and the lids. Bring the water to a boil, turn off the heat, and cover with a lid. 

2. Put the lavender buds in a small bowl. Bring the water to a boil; pour it over the buds. Cover, and steep for 15 minutes.

3. In a medium-large pot, blanch the peaches for 30-60 seconds. Immediately plunge the peaches into an ice water bath. Once cool enough to handle, peel, pit, and chop roughly.

4. Strain the lavender buds from the water. Set aside the buds; you’ll add them in later. Combine the lavender water, peaches, lemon juice, and lemon zest in a heavy stainless steel saucepan. Bring to a boil over medium high heat. Reduce the heat and simmer for 15 minutes. Remove from the heat. 

5. Once the peach mixture has cooled slightly, press it through a food mill, puree in a high-powered blender, or puree using a food processor or immersion blender. 

6. Return the puree to the pan, add the sugar and lavender buds, and bring it up to a gentle boil over medium heat. Stir continuously until the sugar is completely dissolved. Reduce the heat and simmer uncovered for 25 minutes, until the butter holds its shape when mounded up on a spoon. 

7. Place the sterilized jars on top of a kitchen cloth on the counter. With the help of a canning funnel, pack peach butter into the jars, reserving 1/2 inch of headspace. 

8. Use a nonmetallic spatula to remove any trapped air bubbles, and wipe the rims clean with a damp cloth. Place on the lids and screw bands, tightening only until fingertip-tight. 

9. Using a jar lifter, place the jars in the boiling water bath. Process for 10 minutes, adjusting for altitude as necessary. 

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