What I'm thinking about and working on today.  A little glimpse of the novel I'm writing about various generations of a family (some of them peach farmers) that live in the high desert of Western Colorado.
Harlan grew up studying both at the little school down the hill and along the shaded rows of the orchards.  During the summers he worked underneath the trees, picking and packing alongside everyone they knew.  His long body would be covered up in overalls and his tawny hair tucked underneath his broad cowboy hat as he tried to shield himself from the deadly desert sun.
Redhavens were the first ones to ripen, as early as mid-July.  They were plump, like rosy cheeks, and had vermillion rings around their pits.  Redglobes were the giants of the group—to an untrained eye they resembled apples, until you wrapped your palm around their velvety skin.  Suncrests were like little precious stones that grew on trees with their yellow undercoat and brushing of red fuzz.  Cresthavens came in towards September, right when the light would start to turn, and it often seemed to Harlan that their amber flesh was a harbinger of autumn’s fading golden days.   

photographs by J. Nordberg

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