While the two of them were eating, the chickens in the back of their truck quite literally flew the coop. When they discovered what had happened, Grandpa and Don raced through town leaping over fences! Sprinting across front lawns! Getting tangled up in laundry left out to dry! Bagging every spare chicken they could find.

As they pulled out of town, Grandpa took a deep breath and noted, "Donny, I do believe we're leaving this place with more chickens than we had when the two of us first arrived."

(MEMO TO THE PEOPLE OF CARBON COUNTY: Sorry my grandpa and uncle stole your chickens.)

That story always makes me smile. I think of it whenever I take my bushel of peaches and place my cash on the hard heel of a vendor's hand. My grandfather was you once, I want to say with a voice full of memory and love.

But instead I remark casually, "My grandfather was a fruit farmer, too."

The vendors don't care, of course. Why should they? But they are kind enough to humor me with a smile.

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E-mail: acannon@desnews.com