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Memorial Day is upon us, and Memorial Day announces the Advent of Summer. And with summer, come not only, ticks, chiggers, snakes and poison ivy, but also, the warm, sweet smell of sun-ripened peaches, slowly dribbling juice from any dent in their soft, fuzzy armor.
I won a giveaway last week that was sponsored by Le Creuset and Russell at Chasing Delicious and the prize was a red LeCreuset pie dish, with a pie bird! I had to google “pie bird” to find out what a pie bird did or does, but apparently, it’s a hollow little ceramic bird that acts as a chimney to allow steam to exit your pie. And, furthermore, it just LOOKS adorable. (This is my first piece of Le Creuset cookware, ever, and I was beyond thrilled to have won this giveaway, so thanks again to Le Creuset and Russell at Chasing Delicious, a gorgeous food blog if ever there was one.)
So when my husband came home from a song writing appointment last week, he carried with him not only a lovely new song, but also a gift from a friend who owned a peach tree: a sack full of ripe peaches. If you can believe it, some Tennessee peaches are already ripening. And then, I went to Whole Foods, and low and behold, they had gorgeous Georgia peaches for sale. And all that is to say, the arrival of peaches at my house caused my family to break forth into song. And here’s how the song goes.
Don’t be tricked: they’re not really saying “mine”.
They’re saying “pie”.
Oh, yes, I know why the caged bird sings. Well, at least I know why the caged pie bird sings. He sings because he wants Pie. So here’s a link to my recipe for Fresh Peach Pie: wonderful, glorious harbinger of summer.
Can’t you hear him singing now? “Pie! Pie! Pie!”
He sings to reach the full glory of who he was created to be, to do what he was created to do.
He sings a tragic but noble death song, for each peach who is about to cross over the great divide into the glory of the greater good: PIE.
He sings because he’s trapped in 400º peach lava. (Did you hear somebody shrieking “Help”? Good. Me, neither.)
He sings to be released from his molten prison. James Brown might be singing: “Hot Tub!”
He sings for the ruin of the crust that cracked, as Susie tried to figure out how to drape the thing around his neck,
Oh, yes: I know why the caged Pie Bird sings. He sings of life, of death, of things almost too luscious for our taste buds to bear. He sings of Pie.