This Makes No Sense At All

My grandfather raised peaches in Modesto. Back in my high school days, it was my sentence to spend Augusts at the ranch, helping with the peach harvest, in hopes that it might inspire in me a love for the farm. Sadly for my parents and grandfather, but happily for me, that dream never worked out. The experience of being up on a ladder picking peaches in triple digit heat, with sweat running down, furiously itching peach fuzz down my neck and body, did not convince me that this was a life I wanted. There were, however, a lot of good things about that month in August. By trial and error, with tractor, truck, ancient Chevy sedan and farm pickup, I learned to drive through the orchards. My aunt and uncle also came for the summer to work and help my grandfather manage the harvest. They were only about ten years older than I, and sometimes allowed me to tag along to the drivein movie, or more frequently take me to this wonderful ice cream parlor in downtown Modesto, name now long forgotten...