What I planned to be an annual tradition didn’t happen last year. Partly because I never got around to organising it. Mainly because instead of driving up to the farms to pick cherries, I decided to have them delivered it to me instead.

Twice.

Called Farmers Pick, it is a company that aims to save perfectly imperfect fruits and vegetables from going into the landfill simply because they don’t meet supermarkets’ beauty standards. So they sell them direct to customers instead.

I ordered a box of 2kg cherries to check it out. Admittedly, the cherries weren’t as sweet as the ones you’d pick straight off the tree but that issue was negligible if you factor in how much it would’ve actually cost to go to the farm and pay for the entrance fees, the cherries that you pick, the petrol, and the meals that you end up ordering at some nearby cafe because cherries alone might sustain you, but not your husband.

I learned Raven and I can finish 2kg in two days. Three days, max.

That’s why I had to order again.

That’s why we didn’t feel the need to go to the cherry farm.

It was nice to take my mum cherry picking the last time she flew in for a visit. My mistake was booking it after lunch, when we were too full to fully take advantage of eating our entrance fees’ worth of cherries and too sluggish to walk around picking them.

Moral of the story is to go in the morning. With an empty stomach. Tried and tested by yours truly. You’re welcome.

*Raven at 7 years old