When I was a kid I once spent a summer in France. I remember sitting in a cherry tree gorging on the cherries until I could eat no more. And picking deep purple figs that were deliciously sweet and squashy. The fruit of the south. Quite different where I grew up in Yorkshire. The fruit is of the north, but just as delicious. And now is the time to indulge.
Last weekend was harvest. The whole family in the garden to get in the fruit before it fouls. A good moment, productive, memorable, everyone working together.
Picking and storing the apples, stoning and freezing the plums. Enough fruit to get through the winter and into the spring. We’ve harvested the fruit and we’ve also harvested the experience. These are family activities that will linger long in the memory.
We do actually have a cherry tree in the garden. Been there for 35 years, and I’ve never got a single cherry off it – the birds eat them before they ripen. So my cherry memories will remain in France. Apples and plums belong to England.
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