When peaches arrive by the basket, the kitchen becomes a workshop. Peels curl. Jars clink. The radio stays low.
We keep the work G-rated and communal: washing, slicing, packing, wiping rims. Even the smallest helper can hand over a lid.
The pantry shelf fills with gold. In January we will open a jar and remember August light on the pond.
This is family living in a jar: ordinary fruit, ordinary hands, and a promise to eat together later.
