While I knocked down thistles, burdocks, and wild parsnip in the field, Beth picked sour cherries in the orchard. While I returned the tractor to the farm implement store, driving down the highway at fifteen miles per hour, flashers blinking and knuckles white on the steering wheel, wild-ass teenagers and bourgeois boat hauling yahoos hurling past close enough to blow the cap off my head, Beth pitted cherries. When I returned I grilled the burgers and made the salad (fresh lettuce and scallions straight from the garden - olive oil and wine vinegar straight from the supermarket); Beth baked the pie.

I have googled sour cherry pie recipes and compared them with the one that Beth used and I simply have to say this… you can’t go wrong doubling the sugar in any of these recipes. Sour cherries are, well - you know - SOUR! On the other hand, my sweet tooth aside, Beth’s pie was delicious. The crust provided a sweet pastry offset to the powerful pucker of the sour filling, and topped with vanilla ice cream this was the best dessert I’ve eaten in ages. Molly came begging when she saw how tasty I found it. I didn’t give her any.

If you live nearby, you might want to drop in Sunday afternoon and have a piece. I can guarantee it will be gone by the fourth.

Update, July 2:  Given our current plans to eat vanilla ice cream covered with wild blackberries today, there may be a few slices of pie available on the fourth after all.