In case any of you were wondering the best way to distract a one year-old while you climb a very tall ladder that is propped up on, I don't know, let's say, a few twigs, so that you can pick some beautiful cherries for a pending pie that you will hopefully sell (or secretly equally as hopefully not sell, so you can eat it) at the farmer's market this weekend,...well, you strip him naked and place him in a variable garden of eden, equipped with fresh fruits, soft green grass, a baby pool, and of course, trucks. Essentially, taking the baby back to his earliest ancestral roots, minus the baby pool and trucks. It was amazing. Like a giant organic play pen, of sorts. Now, this is not to say that at some point the baby didn't take notice of the extremely tall and exceptionally dangerous ladder, and try to climb it whilst his wobbly mama calmly and repeatedly begged him, from the ladder's tipity top, to get down.
However, this is precisely why we mama's must travel in packs. (My good friend Becky and I are lucky enough to have had our sons, our first borns, only 2 months apart. And this is a story for another blog day, but I will quickly interject that I was in the delivery room with Becky while I was nearly 8 mos. pregnant. I am still unsure if it more prepared me or completely scared the living daylights out of me. (Okay what on earth are my living daylights?!?! I have no idea where that saying came from...(can you put parenthesis inside parenthesis?)) A family type buddy system. We were two mamas and two one year-olds, which made us an unstoppable cherry picking, baby chasing force. One mama picking, while one chases, and then trade. Hilarious fun.
And this was all thanks to Becky's parents and their beautiful yard and completely lovely cherry tree. However, I will say, that it seems the cherries desire to be elusive, (if a cherry could indeed be desirous) hanging in delicious, picture perfect bunches, just out of our reach in almost every direction. You see, cherries like the sun, as do most growing, unpicked fruits I am told, and the sun apparently likes to shine from high in the sky. Thusly, the reddest, most delightfully plump cherries can be found in the highest recesses of the tree's limbs. Ideal for the cherries, not for the pickers. But somehow, and without breaking a single ladder climbing bone, we triumphed. It was a beautiful day, and we managed to get enough cherries for a few pies and some adorable "tartlets" (what becky called her insanely cute mini tarts), which did indeed sell at the farmer's market just two days later.