Gooder 'N Hell

Five years or so ago, when my brother, Billy, was selling his house, he replanted his peach tree in my parents' backyard.

He was so proud of it. He and his wife had planted it, and he wanted to ensure its continued growth even after they moved.

The first few years after he replanted it didn't flower at all. And the next year, my dad says, a big a wind storm blew off the few peaches it had on it.

Billy will be dead three years this November. It was the spring after he died that the windstorm took down all his peaches.

The last few years it's gotten a few more peaches on it, but not enough to speak of.

But this year has been a Big Year for Billy's peach tree. My mom and dad said it's had so many peaches they don't know what to do with them all, so they've been eating several a day and giving bags full of them to my aunts and uncles and my mom and dad's friends.

"Billy'd be so proud of 'em, you know," my dad says. "He'd sit there in that high-armed chair and lean back with a big grin on his face. You know he would."

I knew as he was saying this that my dad was sitting across from that chair, imagining Billy in it.

Since I've never seen the peach tree bloom, my parents mailed me a handful of the peaches from it last week. My mom called Wednesday to tell me they should arrive on Friday. They wrapped the peaches in newspaper, put them in a box and shipped them through the Post Office.

Not surprisingly, they arrived on Friday badly bruised, squished and beaten all to hell. One of them was completely mashed in.

I was crushed when I opened the box and saw them. And I was angry that my mom and dad had so carelessly wrapped them and put them in a flimsy box. They should have overnighted them, I thought. With dry ice to keep them cool.

Of course I realized it wasn't really my mom or dad or the peaches I was upset about.

Two of the peaches, though, these two, were almost salvagable. They're nearly hollow from bruises in several places, but if I'm lucky I might be able to get a bite or two from them. If I can ever bring myself to eat them.

I called my mom and dad Friday evening to thank them for being thoughtful enough to send them. And I asked my dad how they taste.

"Gooder'n hell," he said. "That boy can grow some peaches."