Cherries, cherries everywhere. I’m even seeing them in my dreams.
We have a cherry tree in the yard. Awesome right? So awesome.
Except, you don’t really realize the mass quantity of cherries one single tree can produce. We’ve given away two grocery bags of cherries to the neighbours that loaned us ladders, and another to Wolf’s friend that helped pick them…and I *still* have two garbage bags full.
And that’s after hours of pitting cherries, and three gallon sized freezer bags in the deep freezer.
Holy old cheezits.
Frankly, I’m not sure what to do with them all. Jam? Pie filling? Syrup?
At this point, getting as many washed, pitted, and in the freezer is the name of the game. Before they go bad. Plenty are going in the freezer unpitted. I have no idea if they’ll end up turning to mush during the freezing/defrosting period, but the idea of turning them into jam or pie filling in this heat is enough to make me turn into a puddle, ooze under my desk, and refuse to come out until fall.
Did I mention they’re in my dreams? Chasing me? Attack of the Killer Cherries.
I had a dream last night of pitting cherries. That was it. I was stuck, and all I could do was pit cherries. Over, and over, and over again. It would’ve been nice if they’d been screaming, begging for mercy, like it was a vengence dream for the night before, but my subconscious doesn’t like me that much.
I also discovered something about cherries. Did you know that if you put them in water, they turn into little sponges, and slurp up the water, swelling to the point where the skin will actually split?
See, we didn’t have a cool/cold place to store them. So, in what we thought was a stroke of brilliance, we filled our cooler w/cold water, and put the two garbage bags of cherries in there.
They’re now soggy, gross masses of cherry like substance. Guessing they’d still probably be ok for jam or pie filling…but pitting that many cherries seems like an awful lot of work for a ‘guessing’ situation.
And another thing I learned: pitting cherries leaves disgusting ick under your nails. And, if you end up having to run out to the store for a bit, the cashier will stare at you. And, as you wonder what the issue is, you realize that your hands look like you’ve just been dismembering a body with a nail file. Or spork.
I’ve also learned that Wolf knows me. Perhaps too well. Because when I realized what the cashier was staring that, I opened my mouth…only to have him grab the receipt and hustle me out the door.
What, I wasn’t going to do nothing. Just ask her if lime really does work to keep down the stench of decomp…