Peaches

Can you believe that June is almost over?! 

This week, I made my first stop for roadside peaches. You know, the ones that are loaded onto a folding table from the back of a truck, and sold by the person who grew them.

As I walked up to the table with a red spray painted sign that said “PEACHES” on it, another family did the same. 

There were two different options —a box of the “best” peaches for $35, or a box of “seconds” for a one-time-only-deal of $15, since this was the first day of the stand. 

As I considered my options, a family walked up to the table and asked, “can we just have, say, six peaches rather than a whole box?” 

“You must not have ever had my peaches,” the gentleman said.

He clearly believed that once someone tried his peaches, they wouldn't want just six.

“We get your peaches all the time, sir!,” the other table visitor said. “You know, down the road and around the corner?"

The gentleman confirmed, approvingly, “That's my boy, and those are my peaches.” 

I settled on a partial box of seconds, and set it on the front of the car. 

Of course, I had to try one right away.

The gentleman at the stand watched me clean off the peach with my water bottle, carefully wipe it off with a paper towel, and take my first bite.

He continued watching from behind the table, silently, waiting for my reaction. 

The peach was, indeed, delicious. Perfectly juicy. And very soft, even though he had said to wait a couple of days. 

“Delicious!” I said, and gave him a thumbs up. He nodded.  

I keep thinking about this peach stand and specifically the gentleman selling the peaches. 

He believes deeply in his product and firmly believes that his peaches are the best. 

It's often palpable when we experience this type of pride of ownership —whether from the restroom attendant who cares about making everything sparkly, or a seat that was saved just for us, or a dinner prepared by hand and served to just a handful of tables behind a hidden door. 

People can feel when we genuinely believe in what we are offering.  

Often, it feels like hospitality. Like generosity. Like craftsmanship. 

Or, like what Seth Godin often says: “Here, I made this for you.” 

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