Tributes

Cherries, and cheery, memories, wrapped round the regal purple flesh of summers’ promise of warmth and fourth of July parades, tree climbing for Royal Ann’s, Bing and pie, in Grandma Christensen’s back yard, or the Seattle tree, I climbed into the crook at four, added a grouping on two connected green stems into a little leather treasure pouch with pull string, along with a single, shiny copper penny and a plastic horse of white with permanent blowing mane.

I’d waited and waited for my Daddy to come home, swinging his black lunch box up the walk, me running and throwing my arms around his great neck, begging him to make a guess what treasures I kept hidden there. And, he soon would deduce all three, like magic, after asking me animal, vegetable, mineral, only a few questions along with my little hints, weren’t too difficult a code for him to crack.

At fourteen I’d gotten a job picking cherries, all day long, in the blinding sun, rows and rows, we’d (feel) a half pallet and each was worth $14 of pay, I soon found that took me almost all of a day. Was that half a ton, or? I remember picking as fast as my young hands could and one lucky day, only once, made one and a half, a twenty-one dollar day!