There's something quintessentially idyllic about cherries, particularly when they're plucked from the branches of our own trees. Each July, we eagerly await the ripening of our homegrown cherries. These aren't just any cherries, mind you. They are vintage, some deliberately planted, some rewilded, and some are a blend of both, strewn along our local roads.

They're often referred to as 'bird's cherries', perhaps due to their towering stature, or because the bird's sudden shift from our strawberry patches heralds their readiness. Two types grace our garden – the sweet, near-black cherries and the brighter, slightly sour ones.

Once ripe, it's a race against our avian friends to pick them. So on a particularly sweltering summer's day, our children rallied and plucked as many cherries as their little hands could reach from the woodland garden, the orchard, and even the roadsides.

After a good feast of fresh cherries, we decided to spread the joy, packing small jars of our bounty to share with our distant neighbours. Our closest neighbour, as we discovered, had a colossal sweet cherry tree of her own. The fruitful year had her looking into freezing her surplus. However, she welcomed the sour cherries, a variety she didn't possess, with open arms.

We were luckier at our furthest neighbour's cottage, where a lady and her German Shepherd welcomed us in for a cold drink in her garden. No cherries there, so our fruity gifts were received with delight. We had an enjoyable afternoon, exchanging stories and enjoying the day.

Heading home, we stumbled upon yet another rewilded cherry tree along the way, laden with the sweetest fruits we'd tasted that day. So, despite setting out to distribute our surplus, we arrived home with more cherries than we'd left with!

This cherry-filled day serves as a delightful reminder of the beauty of sharing, the joy of community, and the simple pleasures offered by nature. And, of course, the promise of more delicious cherries to come next summer