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CityViewNC .com | 11 Y O U K N O W M A I N T A I N I N G Y O U R H E A L T H I S I M P O R T A N T A N D S O D O T H E Y . Urologic Surgery 910•295•6831 You do everything you can to care for your family. A big part of that is making sure that you take care of yourself as much as you take care of them. Call today to make an appointment so you can be confident that you're still doing everything you can to be there for your family. Dad was a purist to his peeled, sugary, milky chunks of gold. Aer Hurley Randall died, I can remember hearing Dad lament the death of his supply chain to fresh corn and McBee peaches. ere was a far greater depth to the loss, but the omission of that corn and those McBee peaches were a poignant reminder of adopted family gone from this world. Since the dissolution of McFadyen Music, I have made sure that my primary employers were people who did substantial business with Hoke County Sand Company. Britt Riddle is e Man when it comes to growing sweet corn, and Tommy O'Brien and he are exceedingly generous with it to those companies that keep them in business. I try not to take vacation days in June for fear of missing out on the trickle-down theory of fresh corn distribution. I was driving to work a few weeks back, and instead of continuing up Bragg Boulevard, I veered le and up the Haymont Hill. I passed Highland Presbyterian on my le, and just ahead in Tildon Downing's parking lot, I saw the familiar pick-up truck with its wooden shelves built onto the bed and the telltale red baskets lined up on those shelves. I stopped for e Peach Man from McBee, SC. We traded Hey-Buds and winter highlights before getting down to the stress-free negotiation over a peck of peaches. I then inflicted upon myself the discipline of not eating one before arriving at my office. Once there, I handed out a peach to anyone who wanted one. I sat at my desk and took out the oversized pocketknife in my top drawer, placed a paper towel in the middle of my desk, and began the dissection of the first fruit of the vine. I make one cut from top to bottom on the highest ridge of my peach. en I make angled wedges with each subsequent cut, liing them out with the knife as they are formed, and eating the wedge right off the blade. Peach juice drips down my chin. It tastes like every summer vacation ever taken. It tastes like the love of two men gone from me. It tastes like boyhood. e two chairs across my desk are empty. Or are they? I pause between slices just to confirm that there is no milkshake within my reach.

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