I don’t know when the first official day of fall arrives, but around here, it doesn’t feel like fall until mid-December. The first day of autumnal equinox is September 23. But on September 23 in South Mississippi it doesn’t feel much different than August 23 — or July 23 for that matter.

Autumn is a term reserved for people who live in a part of the country where leaves turn brilliant shades of red, yellow, and orange. They wear wool sweaters in October; start worrying about when the first frost will arrive, and whether the snow blower needs a pre-season tune up.

We have no leaves. We have green pine needles which turn a dull and ugly brown. We use our lawnmowers into November, have no idea what frost looks like, and with the exception of those attending an Ole Miss football game, our wool sweaters, skirts, and jackets stay packed in mothballs until they are ready to be pulled out for the two-week period in late January we call winter.

Autumn is a season that sounds cool and brisk. It was 92-degrees yesterday. It has been said that South Mississippi has four seasons: almost summer, summer, still summer, and Christmas. I have friends who measure the seasons as: dove, deer, duck, and turkey. We badly want to have a fall in South Mississippi, though all we can really do is keep raking pine straw and reading Southern Living to find out when the leaves are at their peak in every other Zone but ours.

Our weather does have its advantages. I was traveling down U.S. 49 last week and noticed a sign at a fruit stand that advertised fresh tree-ripened peaches. I wheeled in and checked out the newly arrived crop. When I asked the lady where they were picked, she said, South Carolina. I was expecting the typical off-season answer of California, Mexico, or South America.

To my knowledge, I had never eaten South Carolina peaches. As far as I was concerned, the summer peach season started with Chilton County, Alabama and later moved to Georgia where it ended. I guess it makes sense that the late season would keep the crop moving farther east into South Carolina.

I bought two baskets and dreamed of sliced peaches for breakfast.

I went to the South Carolina Department of Agricultures Web site to research South Carolina peaches, and learned more than I ever needed to know. They seem to resent Georgia’s peach popularity and don’t hide their discontent with statements such as: South Carolina ranks No. 3 nationally in fresh production (At one time, one county in South Carolina could produce more commercially grown fresh peaches than the entire state of Georgia). They have also adopted the motto Tastier Peach State. Talk about a chip on your shoulder.

Ultimately what I learned from this entire experience is that no matter where the peaches come from, unless you are buying them in late June, July or early August, they just don’t taste like summer, no matter how hot it is outside.

For this weeks recipe, Miniature Fried Peach Pies, from Roberts upcoming Hyperion cookbook, Deep South Parties, go to the blog on www.robertstjohn.com.



Robert St. John is an author, chef, restaurateur, and world-class eater. He is the author of A Southern Palate, Deep South Staples, Nobodys Poet, My South, and the upcoming Deep South Parties. He can be reached at www.nsrg.com, or www.robertstjohn.com.