One good turn deserves another

I'm developing a habit, an addiction, a fiending. It's a social drug, one that could lead to something harder -- it's risky and expensive . . . I'll just go ahead and say it (first step is admitting I have a problem): I am addicted to picking fruits at local farms and eating them by the handful.

I truly feel aghast I haven't been doing this since I was born. It is a remarkable and simple pleasure -- being outside, talking to the farmers, learning the history of the landscape and crops, and, of course, the unparalleled flavor of all the fruits. I look forward to the next crops (blackberries, peaches and blueberries) like a giddy school girl.

Teamwork to get the cherries into our tray. Visions of cherry pie dancing about my head as I pick (one for me -- my mouth, one for the box, one for me, one for the box, one for me . . .)

Washington wouldn't dare touch these trees.

And then, later that evening, I hit the hard stuff hard -- the sinful cherry dream pie, as mentioned earlier . . . Cherry Dream Pie Recipe.

And I won't even go on about how I wake up in the morning and my first thought is -- would tea or coffee go better with the pie?

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