Coop's Corner: This Evening's Harvest

Monday, July 21, 2014

This Evening's Harvest

We were home from work on time (traffic was acceptable) and even though we've got a heat index at or near 100 this evening, the overcast conditions made me decide to get a lawn mowing in. Out to the cherry trees to unplug the extension cord that's powering the electric fencer and I noticed that there were an abundance of deep red fruit on the tree.

Since this might be the evening when the 'coon's declare war on the trees, fencer or no, I decided to postpone lawn care and do some harvesting instead. Of course, once I started, the sun popped out and we once again were hot and tropical. Even though I carried the step ladder out, I told myself that tonight at least, I'd harvest only what I could reach from the ground.

There is some focal point distortion here but for reference, that's our 12 cup coffee maker in the background. These from 2 trees, as high as I could reach (with juice running down my arm) and that's after the deer have been reaching for any of the not-so-low hangers. Using the ladder will bring multiples of this batch.

We told ourselves last year that we need a pitter. We still do.

15 comments:

Coop a.k.a. CoopdwayJuly 21, 2014 at 8:50 PM
Well, Lauren and I did the pitting and filled a 4.5 liter (10 cups) Pyrex bowl. Just in time too......that dark fruited pie barely managed to stick around until this evening with 3 very small (between friends) slices left, those finished off with a small exploratory batch of our first home made ice cream.

We seem to be living in a land of delights lately and just when I've been trying so hard to be good too.......
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VStar LadyJuly 21, 2014 at 9:32 PM
Coop - my mouth is watering for fresh cherries. What a treat you have!
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UnknownJuly 21, 2014 at 9:49 PM
Coop:

Hmmmm, Home-made ice cream. Have never had any. Can't wait to taste some, one day . . .

That's a lot of cherries. One for you, one for me as you were picking. Right ? Still drooling over that delicious looking pie

bob: Riding the Wet Coast
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RichardMJuly 22, 2014 at 1:17 AM
I think my first comment got swallowed by Blogger.

I was thinking that the cherries sold around here all seem to be a much deeper red color than what you have. Ten pints of pitted cherries is a pretty nice for one evening and one tree.
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Coop a.k.a. CoopdwayJuly 22, 2014 at 6:15 AM
I fed the kitties this morning before we jumped into the car for our morning commute. There was a fairly good sized bandit, ring-tailed creature heading up to the cat food bowls. It was still dark so I didn't go down and inspect my electric fence. Our cherries that remained on the tree may be gone.....:(
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TrobairitzJuly 22, 2014 at 9:52 AM
Yumm. I love cherry season. Luckily there is an abundance of them in the PNW.

I read recently about a homemade cherry pitter. Press a bobby pin into a wine cork so the loop end sticks out. Supposed to work better than traditional even though you have to pit each one by hand.

Or you could go wild and make one from a fork: http://www.how-the-hell.com/how-to-make-a-homemade-cherry-pitter/
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Keith - Circle BlueJuly 22, 2014 at 8:43 PM
You'll get by without a pitter, but I hope to see the photo of your new pitter next season.

Wow. Warm.
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The Man straightened stiffly above the block of salt fixed to the stake and looked at the young cattle ringed about him. The pasture was holding out well and the stock was looking good. This bunch would be ready to sell in another month, maybe sooner if the market was right.

A stir among the cattle down near the river brought him round to face the swinging bridge he'd built years before. Someone was coming toward him from the bridge. Someone in breeches, but it didn't look like a man, somehow. What was a woman doing in his pasture this time of night?

He bent over the salt again; maybe if he paid her no heed she'd go on past and let him mind his own business. He heard her footsteps come nearer and stop. "Good evening," she said.

Her voice was smooth with book learning but friendlier than most, and somehow almost shy. When he made no answer she went on, "I've been sitting on your swinging bridge....I thought I'd like to say thank-you...." Her voice stumbled a little, then she tried once more.

"You are Mr. ____". His name sounded strange in her voice, but she went on to tell her own.

"That's what they've called me the last sixty-eight years," he said, looking past her face to the hills fast darkening under a single star. "I reckon the woods are free for those that like to walk there."

The unfamiliar voice laughed a little. "That's what Emerson said: the grove belongs to the man who walks in it with an open heart....On that basis I guess I've owned part of your woods for a good many years.....". She made a final effort. "I've always wanted to thank you....."

Something deeply hidden stirred in him. "There's a stump up there, in the notch of the woods", he said slowly, "that before the timber grew so tall you could stand on it and see all over this country."

He kept still a minute, remembering, then, "I used to stand up there an' look at things, an' wonder how they come to be like they was, an' how the hills was created, an' all the things in Nature.... I told my wife I guessed all the religion I ever had I got standin' on that old stump, a-wonderin'..." He turned his face away from her.

She helped him out. "I know about that, a little. This afternoon I saw......." Her account of a thing she had really taken time to look at eased him, and he answered with telling of the badger den at the foot of the swinging bridge.

When she had gone, he turned to watch her. After a moment she stood clear and unmoving against the sky. You could hear the sounds of the river where she stood. She was one that could stand still long enough, he thought, really to hear what a body was saying, or a river.

Then she walked down the farther side of the slope and was gone. ------Margaret Snyder from A Chosen Valley

Fall was the end of harvest, end of the growing season, a burst of color and sun-warmth before killing frost turned the land gray and cold. Fall was a moody time, full of both life and death, a time when we were reminded of the power outside of us, reminded that the seasons happen to us. We do not invite the change to come.-------Ben Logan, from The Land Remembers

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We were also cautioned about journeying far from home. As an example of the dangers, the town had a badly crippled lady named Lucy, who as a girl had traveled to New York City. As she traveled along a sidewalk, sightseeing, she was struck by the outstretched hand of a suicide who had leapt from high above. Her spine had been shattered and for the rest of her life, she was to walk bent forward at the waist, tapping the sidewalk with two black canes. Whenever the subject of travel to a big city was raised, someone would say, "Just remember what happened to Miss Tripp." ---- Ted Kooser, from Local Wonders

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As the very proud father of three former ponytail wearers, hopefully I can get away with this....."For the past few years it's been fashionable for young women to wear ball caps and to snap the strap on the back under their ponytails. I like the looks of that, their shiny ponytails jauntily swinging, but it's hard not to think of the rear ends of horses. There's a piece of harness called the crupper that goes just under a horse's tail to keep its nose down. If the horse lifts its head to look for a way out of whatever predicament it's in, the crupper tightens and hurts the horse. But it's foolish for parents to think that a ball cap might keep a young woman from running away. Anybody can see they're made for running." ------Ted Kooser, Local Wonders

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