There was joyful noise in the house yesterday, children were underfoot while adults worked in the kitchen. The neighbors, even though they live fifty miles away, came to help me, a solitary soul can his fruit. It seemed less a chore than a party. It was a day of work and relaxation and conversation. There was music playing, and the children took a dip in the pool. Hard work was made easy by the multiplicity of hands and hearts.

Now, the peach tree has borne its fruit. The pickers have picked. The kitchen team has pealed and pureed. Sugar, pectin, and lemon was added. The cooker watched the fire and timed the boil. Now it’s done. There is jam in the jars and the jars are sealed and cooled. Extra batches are frozen and ready to be thawed for the next canning round. And to top it off there are still peaches on the tree to be picked and peeled or just eaten fresh off the tree. I think there is no better taste than a ripe peach warmed by the sun and eaten on a summer’s day.

This morning after breakfast, I’ll venture out to see what the squirrels pulled down overnight. Probably not much since the humans swarmed the tree yesterday. I wonder what they thought last night when they discovered their pantry had been raided? I guess it would roughly be akin to a human discovering their favorite restaurant was closed or the local supermarket shuttered. But that is anthropomorphizing, and the squirrels aren’t Winnie the Pooh. There will be other trees with other fruits, and they’ll adapt as must we all when our conditions change.

John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale