I just finished reading a book that heavily featured peach stones and peach trees. The peach parts seemed to indicate some sort of romantical nonsense in this sappy tale. Fer instance; the women in the small north shore town had been rumored to have worn peach stones around their necks in centuries past in hopes that this would help them find their one true love.
The story itself was okay. Sweet, but fairly predictable, it still wasn't a bad lightweight read for a cloudy headache day. Not that the headache itself was cloudy. The Stabbing Eyeball Pain tm was as sharp as ever, but the cloudy gray skies just added to my need to crawl back under the covers and try to sleep it away. When the pain abated, I read a little peachpit romance, and felt better.
My point though, is that the whole idea of wearing peach pits around one's neck for an entire summer brought back memories of my childhood, and the year of the Peach Pit Pets. Libby may back me up on this- we were strange children. It was sometime during elementary school and involved Lib, who is 3 years younger than me, our neighbor and best bud Jen, who falls right between us in age, and moi at... maybe 10 or 11?
For some reason, after eating peaches in the backyard one day we collectively decided to build habitats and keep our peach pits as "pets." I mentioned that we were weird, yeh? It was great fun and our parents' were thrilled that we'd found "pets" that required absolutely no effort on their parts. We spent hours arranging little bits of grass for the PP's beds, etc, in their little shoe box kingdoms.
The point of this story is that I don't believe Alice Hoffman ever kept a Peach Pit Pet, because if she had, she would not have come up with that ridiculous legend about women wearing peach pits on necklaces all summer long, and I'll tell you why. After a short time of bliss, the PPP dream shattered, not all at once, but with a tiny hint of something...foul. Like a pet that hasn't been bathed. Or like a pet who has died and been left out in the sun to decompose. Probably somewhere in between those two, actually. Our pets were rotting from the inside out and had to be abandoned finally to the compost heap, their fated destination, it seemed. Oh, how we mourned.
Later we would move on to hamsters, but that's another story...