"Life is like a cherry. Sometimes sweet, sometimes sour, and generally ends in the pits." - a Lady Purist
I am a berry lover. Red, blue, yellow, big, small, prickly. I don't discriminate (um, except for maybe gooseberries...but they just require the proper jam recipe, that I have yet to find). The other day I saw a 'pick your own strawberry' sign in France and got goosebumps. Understand, I can eat obscene amounts of strawberries but there is an especially special place in my heart for cherries. The fleeting and ephemeral cherry season will soon be upon us, my berry brothers and sisters. I preemptively bought my first batch the other day and it fell a bit flat. So now I am just waiting and dreaming and drooling.
There's something akin to a treasure hunt when you go to the store and fondle the robust and succulent fruit. Getting your fingers sticky on berries gone bad (not ENTIRELY unlike 'girls gone wild' for some, I suppose...erm...anyways....) and hunting for the darkest, firmest, biggest berries possible. Then, like a Johnny Appleseed disciple gone astray, liberally dispersing the beginnings of future cherry trees to be while walking around with a large paperbag full of them. I cannot tell a lie, I heart you cherry.
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