Picking Cherries, Or Not

My favorite fresh fruit pie is cherry.  But it’s been a pretty disappointing year for cherries.

First, the cherry trees that I planted three years ago still haven’t produced.  I’m not shocked; they are no bigger than me.  But I was hoping for at least one or two.  They blossomed.  But really, they need to be putting their tree energy into growing.  They are only toddlers in the tree world.

Second, my dad and I drove out to pick cherries from the tree of my childhood to find that it had been cut down!  This tree loomed large in my memory.  It was pretty big, taller than the cabin next to it.  We’d pull out the twelve foot ladders and stand on the top rungs to reach the highest cherries as my mother fretted on the ground below.  Imagine our shock to see this wonder tree reduced to a stump.  When my dad called his friend, he learned that the tree had died and had to be removed, another blow to our dreams of cherry pies.

Third, my neighbor’s tree didn’t produce much at all this year.  Usually, there are enough cherries to share, but not this year.  His tree is relatively young too, a replacement for a tree that kept the whole neighborhood supplied with cherries.  One sad Summer day, the tree split in half, all the way to the ground, right before our very eyes.  My younger son and niece both burst into tears.  The whole tree was infected with carpenter ants and no one had realized it.

So, it looks like I’ll not be picking cherries this year, which is really too bad.  I still have a couple bags in the freezer, but I’ll miss the picking as much as the fruit.  I love climbing ladders to reach for ripe cherries.  I love the look of big bowls of them in the lawn under the tree.  They truly are beautiful.  One year, my niece grabbed the camera to snap a picture.  I still have it in my cookbook, marking the pie recipe.  They look so beautiful, all those containers of freshly picked cherries in the green grass.  I love sitting on the front porch, pitting them and watching the neighborhood go about its business on a warm, Summer afternoon.  I could get a cherry pitter and crank them out in a fraction of the time, but then I’d miss sitting on the front stoop.  And I’ll miss the pies.  Cherry pie is so pretty.  Cherry pie made with fresh, tart cherries has a color that canned cherries tries, but fails, to imitate.

Some day, my cherry trees will be producing.  My father has begun to replace his dying redbud trees with cherry trees to ensure his own cherry haul.  My neighbor’s tree will soon mature to feed the neighborhood cherries.  In the meantime, I met a lovely woman at the Farmer’s Market.  She says she’ll have cherries for sale this afternoon.  I may have to buy every cherry she brings.