I was married when I was almost 17, so there were many things I had not yet learned about canning fruits or vegetables. My sister, Lila, was living with us when it was cherry picking time. Luther and Nellie Keller, who lived northwest of us a few miles, had a small cherry orchard where people could buy or pick their own cherries by the pound. Cherries were my vorite fruit, so I decided Lila and I should pick some to eat and can for future use. Early one morning, Lila I and went to the Keller Orchard, where we were given a milk pail and the use of a ladder to pick our own cherries. It was a fun thing for the both of us to work together. As we sat on a tree limb and picked the cherries, we sang songs that we had sung when we both lived at home. Another couple of girls in a tree beside us joined us in song. It did not take us long to eat our fill and get a big bucket full of the luscious red fruit. Now to cook the cherries, I had nothing but small sauce pans and did not want to spend the time doing it that way. The only thing I could think of was a milk bucket. It took us a long time to wash, pick off the stems, and pit the cherries; I added sugar and enough water to the bucket of cherries to cover them and commenced cooking them. After some time passed, I decided to taste them. They certainly did not taste like the cherries mama canned, so I added more sugar, cooked them longer and made another taste test which revealed no change.

I kept adding sugar to no avail, and as a last resort I called mama, who lived seventeen miles away. I am sure she heard the distress in my voice, as she said she and daddy would drive right over. When they arrived, they came into the kitchen where mama took one look at my pail of cherries on the burner, grinned and said "Lois, the first thing is, you never cook acid fruit in any galvanized utensil."
Mama went over to the stove, picked up my wooden spoon to give a stir and when she brought the spoon up, there was our kitchen alarm clock dripping with cherries. I was simply mortified! Daddy, who was standing behind all of us, roared with laughter and mama joined him. I was so embarrassed. I couldn't laugh until much later.

I am not sure when the clock fell into the pail, but most likely it was that morning. It sat up on top of the rounded edge refrigerator which sat beside the stove. We assumed that when someone slammed the refrigerator door, the clock fell into the pail. I was teased for many years about my seasoned cherries. It was the pits!