Summer surprises

One of my favorite things to do as a child was eat freshly picked fruit from the trees.

I still fondly remember the juicy apricots and peaches eaten under the fruit trees during the hot Italian summers. The ripe red strawberries peeking out from under the green leaves, melting in your mouth.

Picking melons from my grandfather's garden, competing to see who could pick the ripest and juiciest.

And then came the purple and yellow plums, the honey-flavored figs.

But the fruit I absolutely loved eating from the tree were cherries. It was a constant binge, sitting astride some branch or perched high on a long ladder.

And I was able to experience this moment even when I lived in Tuscany, in the countryside, when I was already an adult. We had three cherry trees in Poggiomartino, which began to bear their red fruit at the beginning of June, and we would continue eating cherries for a month. I can still taste the delicious, sugary flavor in my mouth.

Moving to Scotland, of course, things changed. There aren't any fruit trees that easily bear fruit, except apples and pears.

But in my garden, I have a cherry tree that hasn't produced a single cherry worthy of the name in five years. As soon as the small cherries appeared, after a few days they'd fall miserably to the ground, due to the lack of sun and too much rain.

But this year, listen up! Perhaps thanks to this very benevolent spring/summer, the cherry tree produced fruit that can be called cherries. And once again, I was able to pick them from the branches and eat them, as if they were the most precious thing in the world.

I felt as happy as the little girl I once was, almost thrilled by this unusual event. What can I say, Scotland also gave me this emotion, which is no small thing.