Peach salsa to die for

There was drama here this week. There was frowning, and much gnashing of teeth and pacing. Each and every evening, I called our local U-pick fruit farm to enquire about cherry picking, and each and every evening I was only further galvanized in my anguish. Too much rain, they said. Try later in the week. I seethed and I fumed, watching the spongy gray clouds hanging in the sky like a pall, and lusting to fill my mop bucket with ripe glossy sweetness.

I seethed and I fumed, and last night I gave up and went to Frog Pond.

Not for cherries. For peaches.

I'm ravenous as a heroin junkie, craving my canning fix. Like those nut cases you see storming the sales at Walmart the day after Thanksgiving, I wasn't satisfied until I'd loaded my cart with five quarts of gorgeous, sunset-colored peaches.

I had this recipe, and I had a plan.

Twenty minutes later, part of me was soothed and centered as I ladled amber-colored salsa into jars. Twenty one minutes later, I almost fell on the floor at my first sultry and piquant taste of peach salsa. Good lord, it's delicious.

Let it rain. I'll get my cherries eventually, but for now, I've got this bag of chips, and this jar of salsa... and we'll see how long they last.