What is it about the simple little cherry? I’m a fruit lover but there’s nothing quite like the cherry. Remember those cans of fruit cocktail with loads of bright yellow and orange fruit and 1.2 cherries? I always wished for more of them and would fight to get to them. Maybe that’s how the phrase “cherry picking” got started.
The rain was threatening but hadn’t started yet as I drove home tonight, so I indulged in opening the car’s sunroof and windows. I could smell the electric air and as I rounded a turn, the glorious vision of a roadside produce stand came into sight. A giant sandwich board announced that they had bing cherries. I stopped and grabbed the biggest bag I could find, and started munching on them before I even put the wallet away, leaving pits and stems in my wake.
My love affair with this little red treat started a long time ago. My grandparents had a cherry tree in the back yard. It was here I learned my first lesson in cherry consumption. Never eat the ones on the ground. They’re buggy and rotten and this royal taster tried her best to find a few good ones but quickly learned that to get to the prime ones, you have to climb the tree. Even then, this particular variety of cherries were never meant to be eaten in anything other than a pie. It didn’t stop me though – I’d nibble away on the tart fruit making lemonade faces with each bite.
I also discovered the cherry tree in my babysitter’s yard. Her daughter and I would spend endless hours sitting in the tree, eating away until our fingers and faces were stained red. On one sunny summer day, we sat in our usual perches, indulging ourselves when she suddenly let out a shriek. I looked over to see her entire face and arms covered in milky lavender bird poop. The only thing left untouched were her big brown wide eyes staring out from under the mess. At first there was silent shock followed by me pointing out that we should climb down and clean her up. She managed to get to the ground without spreading it to much further but as I followed her to the house, I started giggling at the sight of her walking along, arms outstretched, covered in purple poop. As soon as she heard the giggles, she turned around and glared at me, prompting me to hold my breath until she turned away. I’d start up again, she’d glare, I’d suck in air, she’d turn away, I’d giggle, she’d glare, and this is how we traveled all the way to the back door. Her mother took one look at her and started laughing which took my giggles to a higher decibel. As her mom washed off the mess, she continued laughing and I continued giggling until our poor flyby bird-bomb victim hollered “It’s not FUNNY!” We both busted out laughing. I don’t remember her ever climbing the tree again.
My great grandmother had a few cherry trees. Occasionally, she would have me and my cousins climb as high as we dared to tie pie pans to the branches. This Appalachian trick would prevent any bird-bombs and save the fruit for our young appetites. The sun would reflect off the pans, blinding the birds just enough to distract them from finding a safe simple landing in the trees. Of course, we consumed more cherries than any bird as we climbed up and even more cherries on the climb down, justifying our snacking as a way to keep up our strength during such physically demanding work.
As a teenager, I discovered the more sensual aspects of the cherry. You knew a guy really liked you if he hand fed you his cherry from the top of his sundae. He knew you were into him too if you took it very very slowly while making eye contact, maintaining a small smile on your lips, freshly glossed in cherry flavored lip smacks. I wonder if they still make that stuff. It never stayed on any one’s lips that long because it was so sugary sweet, we’d lick it off as soon as we applied it. Regardless of gender or lip gloss preferences, you were one serious hottie if you could tie a knot in a cherry stem using only your mouth.
Now that I’m all grown up, I frequently settle in front of the TV set with a great big bowl of cherries. Actually, make that two bowls – one for the cherries and one for the pits and stems. It was on one of these cherry munching movie watching nights that I discovered my little dog Grommit loved the pits. I was sitting on the floor, totally engrossed in the Nicole Kidman movie “The Others” popping cherry after cherry in my mouth and tossing the refuge in the bowl. Grommit would come over and nose around in the dish, rattling the stems and pits against each other, then wander off, then come back and nose again. At the end of the evening, I picked up the bowl and realized that there were only stems left behind. She had been eating the pits the whole time. After feeling all those little pit lumps in her belly, I thought for sure I would have a dead dog on my hands but my little junk yard dog never once showed any signs of ill effect. I should have known better – this was the same dog who ate every piece of Zach’s Halloween candy one year – wrappers, taffy, chocolate, jawbreakers – everything in the bag – and never once showed signs of digestive distress.
Flash forward to tonight – driving down the road, windows opened, wind whipping around the car, the smell of rain heavy in the air, bag of cherries at my side, my mind a blissful blank for a change. Then it struck me. Maybe life really is a bowl of cherries. We’ve all gotten caught up in our bucket lists. I’m more guilty of this than anyone. After losing Keith, I think about our bucket list way too often. I forget to focus on the simple joy of eating cherries in the rain. Maybe we need to add climbing trees, laughing at what isn’t funny, tying pie tins to branches, marveling at our pets, and licking gloss off our lips to the list. Since I have a bag full of stems, I bet I could practice that hottie stem knot trick – now that’s bucket list worthy. The pits can wait for another day.
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