We lived in Madera when I was a kid, from 1945 to 1950, and I learned
to love cherries. Cherry season as manifested in our grocery here in N
Florida starts in Southern California about late May or early June.
The first ones come in from around Palmdale and are about the size of
grapes. As the season progresses, the cherries come from farther
north, San Joaquin Valley, then Oregon, then Washington, and they get
progressively larger.
I went to the store today and the Raniers are in now and, sadly, that
signals the end of the cherry season for us. Can't wait till next May.
I remember going to the orchards around Stockton and buying what I
think were called premier cherries, which I swear were as large as
plums. They are not shipped. You can only buy them locally at roadside
stands because they are freaks and there are only a few per tree and
for years most farmers kept them for themselves. In fact, the pickers
(like my uncles) used to stuff them into their pockets. A few years
ago, I saw them again, for the first time in 50 years, at a fruit
stand at Santa Monica Mall. I bought ten pounds and that's what I ate
for two days while the rest of my group had steaks and stuff. I can
get steaks and stuff here.
I remember eating apricots off of a tree in our back yard in Madera
till I made myself sick. We get apricots here, but they left their
flavor on the tree in California. Same with avacados. I used to grab a
salt shaker and go out to the avacado tree and pick one, walk 20 feet
to the lemon tree and pick one, peel the avacado back, sprinkle it
with salt and fresh lemon juice, and engorge.
Here we have shrimp trucks. Old men on the side of the road selling
shrimp for a living. Just out of Stockton in the late 1940s I remember
trucks, too, but they sold Dungeness crabs, and they were twice the
size of those things you get at Fisherman's Wharf in S.F.
I also remember going to the Diamond plant and getting large bags of
walnut shells for free. Took them home and got enough meat out of them
for a coffee cake, and the shells went into the flower beds.
I also remember going to a winery and watching men in hip waders
stomping the juice out of the grapes. None of that fancy grape
crushing equipment back in them days.
On the other hand, I grilled fresh grouper last night (watched the
Southern Seafood guy fillet it and cut me off a pound), sided it with
local green beans and new potatoes from the farmers' market, and
dessert was homemade baklava made with Georgia pecans and local Tupelo
honey. And I'm having trouble keying this in because my fingers are
soaked and wrinkled from the boiled peanuts. I guess if I moved back
to California I'd miss those things.