Through the sepia tint, the glare of the hot sun barely dimmed upon the rows and rows of cherry trees stretching as far back as one can see. A three four hour drive out to a country town renowned for its cherries, farms dotting the landscape on either side. Buckets and bags loaded in hand, we march out ready to undertake some serious business. But soon they lay discarded on the side, empty; as the ripest juiciest cherries make their way unconsciously to hungry mouths. Trees barely two metres in height surround in all directions, abundant upon each branch with the tiny purple fruits. The wind whistles through the leaves as the cool breeze brings a slight respite from the sweltering heat. Two hours later, buckets overflowing at the brim and bellies similarly filled, we head back. Satisfied.
