Cherry picking season on my dad's farm was a fun time for all of us kids. Our special friends, The Guzman family, came every year to pick cherries; and boy did we have some good times together.

We roasted marshmallows and hot dogs over a campfire in the evenings and told ghost stories. At one time I convinced Marge and Anne Guzman that there were ghosts in the old house they were staying in. This was the house my Dad and Mom lived in when they first got married. I told the girls how the ghosts lived in the upstairs attic and I had actually seen them. Those two girls refused to sleep in the upstairs of that house the entire time they were there that summer. Needless to say, my Dad was not happy with me for telling such stories.

We were out picking cherries at the first light of dawn. As the day wore on it would often get terribly hot in the orchards. The cherry juice on one's hands and the sweat running down your back would attract sweat bees. They were mean little buggers; getting under one's clothes and stinging the heck out of a person. Still, we had a great time singing and gabbing our way through each day. Sometimes, a cherry throwing fight would get started but it was dangerous because, if Dad caught us, the consequences were not nice.

Five o'clock would finally come around and Dad was there with the tractor and trailer to pick up the lugs of cherries. It was my job to write down which boxes belonged to whom. Each picker would put a tag on the lugs with their name on it. Some of the Mexicans could pick twenty lugs of cherries or more a day. Twelve to fifteen was the best I ever managed.

Anyhow, we got the cherries all loaded after which Dad and my brothers would take them out of the orchard and load them onto the truck. It was time- consuming hard work but they had no four wheel drive trucks to take into the orchards and pick up the cherries. Dad then took the cherries into the canning factory and unloaded them. It made a long hard day but no one complained; it was our livelihood.

As soon as we got Dad underway my brother would holler, "All aboard who's getting aboard if you don't want to walk".

Kids ran every direction getting into their swimsuits and climbing into the back of Dad's old pickup. Our destination was Crystal Lake, about a mile away.

Oh, how wonderful it felt to dive into the cool water after a hot day in the orchard. We washed the sticky cherry juice out of our hair and off our bodies. You can't begin to imagine the blissful feeling. We would stay about an hour playing games and diving off of an old barrel. Even the bee stings felt better after our swim.

Mom had supper ready when we got back from swimming. We ate as quickly as we could then headed for the nightly campfire. We sang and told stories until 10:00; Dad insisted on bedtime at that hour.

Sunday was a day of rest so on Saturday nights we often piled into two or three cars and went to the drive- in movies. We stopped on our way and bought Frosty Freeze cones; what a treat that was. I don't know if I ever saw the ends of the movies. I was usually snoring in the back seat of the car with Marge and Anne long before the movie was over.

It took close to three weeks to pick all the cherries. Still, it always seemed the days went too fast and it was time for the Guzman family to head for home. Everyone was sad when it was time to part for another year. The farm seemed so lonesome, and the old house so empty, after they were gone. I bet even the ghosts in the attic were sad and lonesome.

I often remember those days so long ago. We had other cherry pickers besides the Guzman family but none who came every year and none who seemed like an extension of our family. Those wonderful memories will be with me forever. I had the best times of my life in those cherry picking days.