Houston? What the hell was I doing in Houston? There was no sense getting back on the plane. It obviously wasn’t going anyplace. It was 6:30 in the ...orning. First things first. I had to get to a bathroom or I’d burst right there.It took longer than I expected.When I dragged myself out of the restroom, I’d washed my face and brushed my teeth and run a comb through my hair. I looked almost human. Time to locate a service counter and find out why I was in Houston.“Oh, Mr. Hamar,” the nice woman. I have known many people who only wanted to complete the task at hand and move on. But part of the beauty of the South is taking the time to talk to people, getting to know them, even if only for a few minutes. As I visited with the farmer, the peaches grew their own voices and called me to them. The sweetness of ripe fruit overtook any other scent that might have attempted to make its way to my nostrils. As I craned my neck towards the recesses of the orchard, I could see people harvesting. More

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