I grew up in Georgia, where the peach reigns supreme.

You can’t drive through downtown Atlanta without eventually ending up on some street that has a peach to thank for its name – Peachtree Industrial Boulevard, Peachtree Street, Peachtree Road. Every New Year’s Eve, audiences can watch the peach drop in downtown Atlanta – a giant illuminated peach descending down a tower to usher in the New Year.

My stepdad grew up in Fort Valley, which is located in Peach County, Georgia. Near Macon, in the middle of the state, Fort Valley is home to Lane Southern Orchards, which has been growing peaches for over 100 years. It’s surrounded by peach orchards, and tourists passing through can buy all manner of peach merchandise, from tote bags to peach ice cream. It takes about an hour and a half to visit Fort Valley from our home in Jonesboro, and eventually, we gave up on travelling the bland stretch of I-75 and chose instead to keep to the back roads through farm land.

The pink peach tree | Vincent Van Gogh

I have learned that route as a passenger, leaning heavily against the door in the back seat of my parents’ car. I love watching the busy commerce of big box stores and fast food restaurants give way to expanses of hay and cotton fields, to pecan groves, and of course, to orchards full of neat rows of peach trees.

Have you ever seen peach trees? In the summer, when their branches are full and green, you can almost miss them. Because when the whole world is green and full of life, green ceases to be impressive. But in the winter, that’s when peach trees stick out. They look like gnarled, witchy hands sticking out of the cold Georgia clay, their branches naked, almost like claws.

I play those images over in my head whenever I eat peaches – the way a one field after another of stark white cotton will eventually lead us to rows upon rows of peach trees. I know there’s debate over who has the best peaches (or at least the best trade on peaches), but for me, a peach means Georgia. It means home. I’ve been called a peach more than enough times to feel it is somehow tied to my identity. It’s my history and my culinary inheritance.

I decided to make peach pie with the peaches I got from Five Points Community Farm Market. My friend Meghan often pokes gentle fun at me for being twenty-six years old and holding a (years-long) subscription to Southern Living magazine. I can’t quite help it. I’m drawn to the magazine and its spreads of fully stocked, immaculately decorated kitchens, its tried and true recipes, and its guides to gardening. (I live in an apartment, and my balcony garden consists of two trays of dried out herbs, the basil and rosemary the only surviving remnants of my well-intended herb garden. Nonetheless, I know that one day I’ll need to know the right time of year to start growing blueberries in my mid-Atlantic soil. And on that day, Southern Living will be there.)  There’s a deeply domestic part of me that just wants to be a Southern housewife and make napkin rings out of pine cones and have a pie always on hand; to coordinate my furniture with my wall colors and appliances. I want to know where my furniture upholstery comes from, and to make jugs of sweet tea, and grow azaleas.

Peach pie

I admit this because this week’s recipe comes from Southern Living. Every time I receive my new issue, my mom and I compare notes on the recipes we intend to try or have already sampled, shaking our fists at Rick Bragg for his stories in the back of the issue and the fact that he has my career. And this month, my favorite recipe so far is the Brown Sugar-Cinnamon Peach Pie.

The recipe in the magazine instructs on how to make the crust. Let me go on record as saying that I think homemade crusts are fantastic. My mother always told me that it’s not really making a pie if you don’t make your own crust. But I’m a busy woman. And you know a great way to save time? Use store-bought crust. I’m just saying: if you don’t have the time to go for the homemade crust, a couple rolls of Pillsbury refrigerated pie crust will do just the trick.

I modified the recipe a little, so what follows is my modified version. The original recipe can be found on Southern Living’s website.

Brown Sugar-Cinnamon Peach Pie

2 rolls refrigerated pie crust

8 large fresh, firm, ripe peaches (about 4 lbs)

1/2 cup firmly packed light brown sugar

1/3 cup granulated sugar

1 tsp. ground cinnamon

1/8 tsp. salt

1 1/2 tbsp. butter, cut into pieces

1 large egg, beaten

1 1/2 tbsp. granulated sugar

Preheat oven to 425. Unroll one sleeve of pie crust on a lightly floured surface; sprinkle dough lightly with flour. Carefully fold the dough in half, keeping it loose. Transfer to a pie plate, unfolding and gently pressing the dough into the plate.

Peel peaches, and cut into 1/2-inch thick slices; cut slices in half. Stir together brown sugar, next 3 ingredients, and remaining 1/4 cup flour in a bowl; add peaches, stirring to coat. Immediately spoon peach mixture into pie plate and dot with 1 1/2 tbsp. butter. (Do not make mixture ahead of time as it will become too juicy.)

Carefully place remaining pie crust over filling; press edges of crusts together to seal. Make sure to cut a few slits in the top crust for steam to escape. For a fancier appearance, you can also do a lattice weave with the crust. It seems intimidating, but it’s actually very easy to do. Once your top crust is in place, brush with beaten egg and then sprinkle with sugar.

Bake at 425 on middle oven rack for 15 minutes. Reduce oven temperature to 375 and back 40 minutes. When juices are thick and bubbly, remove from oven and cool on wire rack for two hours.

Enjoy warm with vanilla ice cream for best results. And if you’re like my roommate and you find you crave this pie for breakfast, don’t fight the feeling. It’s natural.

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