Cherry-ripe

This is our cherry tree.

Pay heed to all of the lusciously-lovely-green-leafiness.

Notice the astounding lack of cherries hanging from those leafy branches.

These are the suckers that the cherry tree sends up from its roots.

All season long.

No matter how many times I cut them down.

We bought the cherry tree many moons ago.

We were so excited because it had three kinds of cherries grafted onto it.

Two dark sweet cherry varieties and one cooking cherry.

It's been so long I don't even remember the varieties.

I hacked off the cooking cherry branches long ago.

Who wants sour little cherries when you can have big black sweet ones?

About four years ago we had a bumper crop. A murmuration of starlings took possession of the tree and I thought that for sure there would be no cherries left for us humans. Surprisingly, I figured we got over 100 pounds of fruit, even if it was all sticky from the starling cast-off. We called all of our friends and cut down the branches, they were so tall, and sent the fruited branches home with them. We always do that because the tree gets so tall. 

The ground beneath the tree was covered with cherry pits from the ravages of the starlings and from all the fruit that got squished when the branches crashed to the ground.

I didn't expect another crop for at least a couple of years (cherries fruit on two-year-old wood) and I was okay with that. 

If you had had to deal with all those cherries you would understand.

But it has been four years and I am out of patience with the tree. 

I threaten to cut it down every year because I am sick of the suckers, but I had given it this year to supply me with another bumper crop and then (hand makes slashing motion across throat) it was to be Adios amigo cherry tree.

This spring, the tree was covered, covered I tell you, in blossoms. And I could have sworn that most of those blossoms got pollinated. But somewhere between the late frost and the wet spring, the cherries became almost non-existent.

That's it!  I cried. The cherry tree will be no more!

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I joined a harvest group last year and I am thrilled with the chance to pick free fruit and at the same time donate half of my bounty to food pantries and other charitable groups. To my mind, it's the best of all possible worlds. This year, I went on two cherry picks, but, sad to say, neither of the crops measured up to the lovely cherries in my very own front yard.

So, in memory of all the black, juicy, sweet fruit of bygone years, I am giving that darn cherry tree 

One. More. Chance.

And here's what I did today with Monday's harvest of Royal Anne cherries.

Washed, stemmed, and pitted....

...and into the food drier they went where hopefully, by morning, they will resemble something sweet-tart-and-shriveled that can be mixed into melted dark chocolate or sprinkled on my morning porridge.

Cherry-Ripe 

THERE is a garden in her face    Where roses and white lilies blow; A heavenly paradise is that place,    Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow:    There cherries grow which none may buy    Till 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry. 

Those cherries fairly do enclose    Of orient pearl a double row, Which when her lovely laughter shows,    They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow;    Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy    Till 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry. Her eyes like angels watch them still;    Her brows like bended bows do stand, Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill    All that attempt with eye or hand    Those sacred cherries to come nigh,    Till 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry. 

by Thomas Campion