Life is a Bowl of Cherries

“All the really ripe ones are just out of reach,” complained Richard, from half-way up the smallest of the mature black cherry trees at the edge of our woods. 

We love “found” food – those native plants that we harvest with little or no work required. We didn’t plant them. Some we tend minimally. More commonly, we simply cheer them on and eat the gleanings with gratitude for the world’s abundance.  Most notable in this category are the wild black cap raspberries, just starting to ripen. Wild grape leaves, too, for stuffing with seasoned rice and meat, and on my “to do” list for the next week or two.

But there’s nothing quite like a perfectly ripe cherry. Unfortunately for us, the trees are 50-60 feet tall, the cherries far from reach.  Growing as they did in a crowded woods, most have no lower branches.

Usually, we resign ourselves to watching enviously as a multitude of birds feasted on the sweet black spheres. I joke about cutting down the trees to harvest the tantalizing crop. Last year, Richard tried hitting the branches of the smallest tree -- the only one with branches low enough -- with a long pole to knock the fruit to the ground. It didn’t work. He was able to reach three or four cherries with a ladder. But that simply whet our appetite for more.

Yesterday, Richard was determined to have some.

Out came the step ladder. It barely reached the one low-hanging branch. Out came the more serious ladder. He was on the top of that when he called that most of the ripe cherries were still out of reach.

I thought about Icarus and his determined creation of a set of wax wings. Richard is more practical. He decided to duct-tape a large-tonged serving fork to a very long pole. With a little practice – and a lot of patience – he coaxed a small bowlful of black fruit from the tree.

The taste was sublime.

This morning, we woke to a raucous symphony of chirps, and cheeps, and squawks and caws. The local avian population had found the cherries, and the message was traveling far and wide. With my binoculars, I could see hundreds of shiny ripe cherries filling the tallest of the trees. 

For the next three days, there will be a non-stop pilgrimage of birds as they pick the tree clean. Some come in noisy flocks. Others arrive on their own. Envious as I might be, I think we’ll have to simply enjoy the show. But then, after Richard took his turn with the binoculars, I heard him murmur something about climbing trees.