does anyone notice how the first bite of an apple is so often heart shaped, or how the early summer air in idaho smells laced of strawberries? how eating cherries only creates a lust for more cherries- how those little blood red bursts serve a rapturous purpose in this world, but softening hunger is not it. it's an element inherent to all stonefruits i'm convinced, though i can't find backing or proof, that they act like an intoxicant- causing cravings, bone deep. i at least know not to reach for a nectarine unless prepared for six, and all of august through the gold newness of fall, i sign on for this, gorging on stronefruits til i'm nearly satiated for another long line of months without them. 


i have an adoration for fruit that at times feels like a crush- when it's a cheeky donut peach or garden nugget strawberry, and then a raving awe for the delicate intricacy of the inner artwork of a fresh fig, sliced in half. and for what fruit has done for me, i'm devoted. how they've soothed, help shared in healing- how in california, curled up over the cusp of the ocean, i ate oranges, three or four on my bed each night, wiping juices and pearled pulp on my linens, getting ready to go back to being one of those busy humans and whole again, or really like i hadn't ever been.



to spend this past spring and summer- dedicating sunny days to honoring fruit in their seasonal splendor, tenderly folding and chopping and blending juicy bits into galettes and friands and creamy tarts, and sharing this with others, feels a lot like finding home. and as we roll into autumn- and into apples and huckleberries and plums, i'll keep being overzealous in the produce department, clapping over each new anxiously awaited color-rich debut, ready to bake them into something fruitful, and sweet. 


Katy Vestal