Were we out of our cotton-pickin’ minds?!

It was the Thursday morning after Canada Day. About 12 hours earlier we had been at Kelowna’s Tugboat Beach watching a feast of fireworks light up the Okanagan sky. The grand finale elicited major applause from the late-night gazers. Little Dreia loved it. We got home late.

 

 

On this scorching-hot new day, Elaine’s best gal pal Mary had invited us down to her hillside hacienda in Peachland to reap a bounty of fresh fruits. One creative caveat – we had to pick the goodies off the trees and vines ourselves. Cherries and raspberries were ripe, ready, and reachable.

 

 

 

 

 

 

For the first time in my life, I stood beneath a cherry tree as a “cherry picker.” Normally it’s a sports term. Or an elevated work platform. Not on this day. After 20 minutes of stem research, Khrystyn, Nathan, and I had three bags eagerly filled with the deliciously sweet red orbs. It was a cherries jubilee kind of moment.

 

 

 

 

Round Two was Mary’s humongous back-yard garden. Raspberries grow on bushy vines, how did I not know that?! I’m a ‘burbs boy – not a farmer in the dell. These pinkish-red little buggers were a little harder to dislodge from their docking bays. You had to tug a bit (be gentle), but not too hard as to squeeze the juicy lifeblood out of them. We managed to gather about half a Tupperware bucket and called it a day.

 

 

I’ve harvested newfound respect for the “farm-to-table” continuum. It was hot out there. Shade was limited. Bees were buzzing. Workin’ the land ain’t easy. A big Thank You to all the farmers out there. A big Thank You to Mary for her generosity and agricultural enlightenment.