CARVSMARK

Cherries, oh cherries, how I adore thee! As one of my most favourite fruits, I can barely contain my excitement knowing that next month they will be everywhere, like little red jewels adorning the market stalls. I grew up on an orchard, and the mere thought of cherries sends me spiralling down memory lane. Picture this: a childhood filled with the sweet and tart symphony of cherry-picking, where hard work and sweat mingled with the scorching heat, and the indulgence of eating cherries until I was practically rolling around with a stomach ache.

Our house had this colossal cherry tree right out front, and it was unofficially dubbed “my tree.” Every day was an adventure, as I’d eagerly check to see if any cherries had turned that perfect shade of red, signifying they were ripe for the picking. Of course, my impatience often got the better of me, and I’d end up eating cherries that were just a smidgen red—needless to say, my stomach didn’t always thank me for that! LOL

Growing up with a horde of cousins meant that cherry season was as much about the antics as it was about the harvest. Our family had this brilliant (or maybe sneaky) strategy of corralling all the kids onto one tree. The idea was that we’d earn all the money from the cherries we picked. But, in reality, our parents knew full well that we’d spend more time munching on cherries and launching pit wars than actually picking. Oh, those pit wars! We’d pelt each other with cherry pits, and then, in a stroke of mischievous genius, we upgraded to using straws as makeshift pea shooters. We’d scramble up the tree in pristine white shirts and come down looking like we’d been in a berry-themed battle, splattered with red spots like a polka-dotted crime scene.

And yet, nothing could deter us, knowing that the afternoon promised a refreshing dip in the lake. Those were the days of carefree summers, laughter, and cherry-stained clothes. Summer trips when I had kids were to the orchard I grew up in where they learned the value of making boxes for the cherries to go into, to picking them and then eating them. They saw their grandparents’ love for growing and the hardship of seeing crops go when mother nature dealt them bad weather.  But nostalgia aside, the other day I saw the first bag of cherries at my local grocery store. They looked absolutely stunning, like they belonged in a still-life painting, but my jaw dropped when I saw the price: over 10 dollars a pound!

Now, as a farmer’s daughter, I understand the immense effort that goes into producing those little bursts of deliciousness. From pruning the trees to meticulously watering the soil to ensure the cherries ripen just right, it’s a labour of love. And don’t even get me started on the nail-biting anxiety of spring rains and storms that threaten to ruin the crop with hail. Farming cherries is a delicate art, and for many orchardists, it’s the one crop that might bring in some profit. But here’s the kicker: out of that 10 dollars a pound, the farmer only receives about 20 cents. Yep, you read that right. And if that wasn’t enough, last year in my local area, they picked cherries and didn’t get paid until this past April. Talk about a delayed gratification!

So, while I savour the taste of those beautiful cherries, I also carry a deep appreciation for the sweat, toil, and sheer determination that goes into every single pound. Farming is a dying profession in our world and in my eyes it should be one of the  Here’s to the unsung heroes of the orchards, whose hard work makes our summers a little sweeter and our memories a lot richer.