I'm picking and pitting cherries again, this week. There's another bumper crop in my back yard. One of my two dwarf Northstar cherry trees has already produced five quarts, perfect for a pair of pies, (I've consigned the other tree to my bestest friend, Mari, in exchange for her mowing my ever-shrinking lawn -- since we've been mulching and converting the grasslands to vegetable and flower garden). The great thing about that is, I've probably picked less than a third of the total on that one tree, and have pitted them and popped them in the deepfreeze until later this summer.
Last year, we got less than a pint off the pair of trees --the ice storm in early spring killed most of the blossoms, and what was left got blown off during a couple of storms. This year, the mild, wet spring has brought me a bumper crop, and I'm feeling smug. We shall have the juiciest, tastiest cherry pie in town.
I might even share a bit of this, when a certain musically-inclined professor comes to town. We shall see.