My brother has a few fruit trees. This may not be remarkable in many parts of the country. In western South Dakota, growing tree fruits is a risky venture. Hail is very common, and he once experienced an hour of baseball sized hail in one storm. Small hail can easily wipe out an entire fruit crop, but that kind of hail strips trees of their branches. But if nature is kind, the bright sun, clear air, and cool night temperatures result in fruit that is more tantalizingly fragrant and flavorful than any I have tasted.
Alan and his wife Heidi had to work late when I came down to do laundry. They've been very busy at the mill and the ripening sour cherries were left unpicked, to be enjoyed by the birds. I think there's something primeval in shiny red fruit that pleads for humans to pick and eat, and Forest and I could not resist. We got enough from this tree to make a pie. The Wheat Montana™ flour and butter found in Heidi's kitchen were a great start for a rich, flaky crust, and because of the dry weather, the cherries had a very concentrated flavor and richness that can't be found in canned pie filling. The pie was a big hit following Heidi's enchiladas.
There's something I find exhilarating and sentimental about growing fruit. There are fond memories of toddler aged Forest and Stokes feasting on the fifty foot row of raspberries in late summer and autumn; the plums I canned one year when I had a bumper crop, and the apple trees I inherited from a previous owner that I tended and thinned carefully to grow huge, crispy sweet and tangy apples that I still crave.
Growing your own fruit is hard work and it's risky, but it's worth it.
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