The Cherry Debacle
One of the
things in life that brings us joy is driving out into the thick of New
Jersey’s farmland and picking bushels of spanking fresh
produce to bring home and can. And probably the most rewarding
crop to do this with is cherries.
Luscious,
freshly picked cherries put those oversized, bland, watery things in
the grocery store to shame, and home-canned cherries are spectacular on
top of cheesecakes, ice cream, or baked in a cobbler. Even the
juice they float in is fantastic, alone or mixed into a vodka tonic!
Last year’s cherries, atop a cheesecake at our annual Christmas throw-down
We hoard those
ruby red mason jars like gold here on SARABANDE. And we were
especially looking forward to cherry season this year, since we wanted
to can plenty to bring on our cruise to celebrate birthdays, holidays
and other special occasions.
Typically, cherry season around here is the first week or so in July, and that’s it.
It’s a cruel trick of nature! After one or two weeks,
they’re gone until next year. But due to our mild winter
and early spring, cherries came very early here in the Northeast.
Alicia saw cherries at the Union Square farmer’s market mid-June
and panicked. We needed to get to an orchard fast before cherry
season passed us by!
Wanting to
multitask, we planned a morning and afternoon working on our mast that
Saturday at Lockwood Boat Works, and a late-afternoon reward at a
cherry picking place not far from there. Alicia worked hard
washing and waxing the mast, sweating and dreaming of the bushels of
cherries we’d triumphantly bring home that evening. As we
toiled under the blazing sun, we talked about how great it would be to
open up a jar of our sweet, delicious cherries to celebrate crossing
the equator in SARABANDE. We’d even brought our own
containers, two five gallon buckets to be filled to the brim.
Tragedy stuck,
however, when we got to the cherry place later that day, exhausted,
dirty, and five minutes too late. Even though the farm was open
until 8pm, the last hayride out to the orchard was at 5:00pm, and we
arrived at 5:05. We begged to be allowed to travel on foot out to
the cherry trees, but the verdict from the cold-hearted, disinterested
teenaged farm employee was that walking was prohibited.
“Besides,”
the hair-gelled brute burped through his gum, “there aren’t
any cherries left out there anyway. Cherry season is basically
done.”
Keeping her
composure until we were back in the car, Alicia was so upset that she
actually cried. Probably she was a little punchy from being out
in the sun all day, but Brian was sad, too. We drove home
solemnly, describing all the other fruits that also can well, but we
both knew that blackberries, however nice, could never fill the
cherry-shaped holes in our hearts.
What a brilliant
surprise when Alicia visited the farmer’s market a few days later
to see one farmer still offering cherries! Beautiful, fragrant
cherries, apparently picked just the day before! There was no
question what the right thing to do was, and Alicia joyfully scrambled
for the ATM. This was as close as she could ever come to buying
happiness!
After a
satisfying day of washing, pitting, and simmering the cherries with
sugar, lemon, cinnamon sticks and some secret ingredients, we now have
11 cans to hoard and savor during our cruise. We have shaken
hands and agreed that opening a jar of cherries must be a unanimous
decision, made only after much consideration. Those babies will
be packed and cushioned with utmost care, and we can’t wait to
open the first one!
It makes the galley really hot, but for the rest of the day your hair smells delicious.
We will cruise with cherries, and all is right with the world!
BACK
