Not too long ago I passed a sign for a peach festival while driving to an olive oil mill just outside of Phoenix.

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Does any of this make sense to you?  An olive oil mill in the middle of the desert?  And (apparently) a peach orchard right next door?  Who woulda thunk it?!?!

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The olive oil mill visit was<em> fabulous</em>, and I made a note in my Crackberry (am I the only one in the world without an iPhone or Android at this point?) to return to the peach festival in late February.  Katie Ann agreed to schlepp 50 minutes out to the country with me to celebrate the mighty peach.  For weeks, all I could think about was homemade peach pie.

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As the weekend of the festival approached, friends and my mother began to ask, "Are peaches in season this time of year?"

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My standard reply:  "Well, you know, it's Arizona.  The weather right now is a perfect 70 degrees.  I'm sure that all that warmth and sunshine has something to do with it."

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I could almost taste the pie.

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When the umpteenth person asked skeptically about the early peach season in Arizona, I consulted my Crackberry notepad.  There it was:  "Peach Blossom Festival

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