Even though I'd grown up slurping them each summer, by the age of 20 I thought I'd never touch
another peach. It had nothing to do with allergies, crop sprays, or their taste. I'd never even
mentioned my disavowal to anyone. But by the time I'd finished my teen years, all attraction to
the fuzzy fruit was gone due to overexposure. My informal boycott was about to be lifted when I
first started reading Epitaph for a Peach by David Mas Masumoto.
I'd lost my appetite for peaches in the early 70s when attending college at Stanislaus State in
Turlock. Before the start of fall classes, I would work the graveyard shift at Tri-Valley Cannery
during August and early September. Alongside dozens of other crew members, I served as a
lookout for runaway bruised peaches. The would-be escapees tried to make their way down
conveyor belts to be washed, peeled, pitted, and sliced amongst the unblemished ones. The
unremoved fruit sections were then immersed in sugary syrup and encased in silvery cans, later to
be blanketed with colorful labels and packed into flats to be loaded into trucks by forklifts. The
former cannery is now a thriving indoor soccer complex during evenings and weekends. Back
then when peach canning season was going full swing, the facility was a 24/7 buzzing beehive.
During late summer in the San Joaquin Valley, daytime temperatures often exceed one hundred
degrees for weeks on end. After my shift ended at 8:00 a.m., it was not unusual to see 80 degrees
already displayed on the Bank of America sign as I hurried home on my 10-speed. Once there I'd
plunge myself into a bath, towel off, and then dive into bed as fast as I could, trying to fall asleep
before the sunshine came pouring through my bedroom curtains. But I wouldn't need to count
sheep. Almost as soon as I'd shut my eyes, single file lines of peaches streamed down my inner
eyelids, much like the reels that rolled behind the tiny windows on the front of a slot machine.
When I'd awaken a few hours later, no matter how well I'd scrubbed, I'd still smell like a giant
peach.
My disinterest in peaches lasted more than 2 decades but unexpectedly dissipated when I first
delved into Epitaph for a Peach when it was first published in 1995. Its events centered on the
formidable challenges of a relatively small-time farm family in the tiny Valley town of Del Rey.
The book's rich, poetic descriptions of the Sun Crest peach the Masumotos grow, a delicate and
delicious variety, rekindled a desire in me. The book also offers behind-the-scenes views of what
it's like to grow peaches commercially. Oddly, during my work at the cannery, I'd never given
much thought to growers.
With sparkling expressions and illuminating insights Epitaph eloquently elucidates the family's
quest to bring their fruit successfully to market. Along the way they experience many minitriumphs.
But all is not peaches and cream, not by a long shot. They also encounter a series of
formidable challenges ranging from ravenous pests to unexpected rainstorms, from shady brokers
to the lack of consumer demand. Nevertheless, the family endures, aided by their hard work,
know-how, luck, and love.
By the conclusion of the book, the luscious yet resilient Sun Crest peach itself emerges as an inthe-flesh hero. Ironically, Epitaph also serves as a living will and testament to the power of
nature. It also signaled the appearance of David Mas Masumoto as a major writer force. And
great authors don't just grow on trees.
Since then Masumoto’s career as a major national literary force has blossomed even more. His
family farm has been featured in Sunset, Country Living and Glamour Magazine and feature
articles about Masumoto have appeared in Wall Street Journal, Los Angeles Times, Time
Magazine and the New York Times. He’s also appeared on statewide and national television
shows and he’s penned many other popular books including Harvest Son, Four Seasons in Five
Senses, Letters to the Valley, and become known as “America’s Literary Farmer.” In the public
consciousness he’s closely associated not only with the organic foods movement, but also the
urban farmer’s market phenomenon. His latest book, Heirlooms has just been released by Heyday
Books and in South Pasadena he will be making one of his first appearances since its publication. |
