Life is Like a Helmet Full of Cherries

Montpelier – Arles, France

One of the things I learned from my Dad is this idea that it’s alright to spend days, or weeks, or even years in pursuit of one moment of perfection. 

Like when I have to start preparing dough the day before to ensure that the crust on the pizza is just right – so that when you take that first bite it’s like you are transported to Italy. You can almost hear the nostalgic music playing and the “Mama Mia” wafting from the kitchen. 

Or like all the preparation necessary for a great Thanksgiving feast. The early shopping. The thawing of the turkey three or four days in advance. Growing and tending the sage all summer and fall. Spending hours making sure the stuffing is just right. (This is still as big one for my Dad. Even at 86 perfect stuffing is critically important…)

All for that one moment of perfection at the dinner table – when everyone takes that first bite and agrees that this is the best Thanksgiving meal they’ve ever had . . . 

Of course, that day might never come . . . 

Because the turkey might not be cooked through. 

Or a big family argument might erupt right as everything is sitting down to eat. Not that that ever happens…

Or, as happened one time when I was growing up, someone (I think it was my Mom) might throw out the potato water by mistake. And then what? How can you make the gravy without potato water? And without the gravy you might as well cancel Christmas . . . (For the record, I really don’t think the potato water is that important – but I remember it being a big deal at the time…)

I suppose that searching-for-perfection idea showed up in my work at the Loppet when we would hold events. We would spend a year planning and preparing for that one big day.

When it all came together it was amazing. It felt like the whole city was out enjoying the snow and cold together. Everyone smiling and having fun.

But you could never be sure that day would even arrive – especially for the winter-dependent events. Sometimes you would do all the work, all the planning, all the preparation. And then the day would arrive and there would be no snow. Or it would be too warm. Or – arguably the worst of all – too cold. And all that planning and preparation would be down the drain. 

Or would it?

And that’s probably the big thing that my Dad taught me. Yes, that one moment of perfection is definitely worth all the time and effort. But even if that moment never arrives, the search for that one moment, the work to arrive at that moment – the planning and the preparations – all of that is, in and of itself, worthwhile – with its own value for our lives. 

Maybe that’s why I‘ve always enjoyed things like running and biking and cross country skiing races. Yes, the races themselves are fun, but it’s the months of training and preparation that really adds meaning to our lives. Giving us a sense of purpose every day. 

And that’s why events that might never happen according to plan are still worth doing. Because everyone involved – the participants, the organizers, the volunteers – all feel like they’re part of something bigger than themselves. And that being part of something bigger gives meaning to our lives. 

Okay, but what does all this have to do with cherries, Munger? 

Well, I’m glad you asked. 

It just so happens that Diana and I had the best cherries of our whole lives today. They were beyond good. And it wasn’t like a bowl of cherries – where you don’t know what you’ll get. They were all good. They were all perfect. Juicy. Sweet. Flavorful. Just the right firmness. 

We agreed afterwards that we might have ruined cherries for ourselves for the rest of our lives. Those sad imitations that they sell in the grocery stores . . . Yuck! 

The problem is – and we never knew this before our experience today – you can’t transport cherries when they’re perfectly ripe like this. Because they’re too ephemeral. They would squish together and make a big juicy mess. 

For this reason the cherry growers must have to pick the cherries when they are still in their hard-as-plastic state. Sure, they might ripen a little later – as they sit on the shelf waiting to be purchased. But the die is already cast. Once they are picked early they can never lose their plastic-ness. They’re just these sad, tasteless, not-very-sweet, kind-of-hard red things. They have a pretty color – but that’s about their only enduring quality. 

How did we find these perfect cherries? 

Well, first you ride your bike like 12,000 miles or so. (That’s the planning-and-preparations-for-perfection part.) Then you keep a close lookout as you cycle along. And, when you finally see them, you need to think quick: stop and leap into action, before they’re in the rear-view mirror . . .

Now, you might need to climb up into the trees to get the good ones. And you might even need to employ your helmet as a basket to put them in. But all in the pursuit of that one moment of transcendence – when you are eating mouthfuls of perfect cherries and the juice is dripping down your chin and, in that one moment, you lose all sense of where you are or what you’re doing – you just know that these cherries are like a great drug and you want more . . .

It’s moments like this that make all the biking, all the big hills and mountains, all the gravel roads, and all the headwinds, totally worth it. 

Now, of course, all the mountains and the gravel and the headwinds – they add value and meaning to our lives even without the cherries.

But the perfect cherry moments – they’re pretty nice too!

Other nice things today . . .

French toast for breakfast. Now, I don’t know if French toast is really a French thing – but it helps to have good bread. Which the French do. Brioche. Definitely a French bread. Full of butter and eggs. Yum. First French toast for a long time now. Love French toast . . .

Flat roads through vineyards and apple orchards and fields of vegetables. 

More quaint little towns, with old churches and walls, narrow streets, and bakeries and cheese shops and stuff.

The town of Arles – with its fun Roman ruins. An old Roman coliseum – that they still use for the occasional bull fight.

An old Roman amphitheater – that they still use for concerts and plays and stuff. 

I guess Arles backed Julius Caesar when he was coming to power and he re-paid the town later by favoring them as a preferred port. Funny the quirks that make one town rise and another fall . . . (Old Julius sounds a lot like some of our current politicians – no guiding principal but his own power and ego . . .)

(Can I just say how impressed I am with the Romans . . . That aquaduct yesterday, the coliseum and the amphitheater here. How did they build these things? The engineering involved. The brute strength involved. The leadership and the vision to make these things happen . . . )

I realized that we never recapped our time in Spain or put it in to any perspective – so here are a few thoughts …

On a European scale, Spain is a pretty big country – ranking as the fourth biggest country by landmass, behind Russia, Ukraine, and France. No word on whether Ukraine’s ranking is falling as Russia grabs more of it . . . Sad.

Even on an American scale, Spain is pretty big. It’s bigger than every state except Alaska and Texas. And a little bigger than California. For the midwesterners in the group, Spain is bigger than Minnesota and Wisconsin combined. You have to throw Iowa in there to get bigger than España. But it would take 20 Spains to equal the landmass of the U.S.

Spain is the world’s largest olive producer – with 92% of Spanish olives going to oil production. It’s the third largest almond producer in the world, behind the U.S. and Australia. But it’s not even close. The U.S. grows 1.8 Million tons of almonds; Australia – 360,000 tons; and Spain – 245,000 tons. Which begs the question of where all the almonds come from in the U.S.? Hint: It’s not Minnesota. Easy answer – they pretty much all come from California. Interesting because almonds are native to the arid areas of Central Asia. Definitely not the U.S. or California.

We were in Spain for, I think, sixteen days and we biked about 1,000 miles. I guess it is the second most mountainous country in Europe – so that maybe explains why we were a little tired on occasion. 

One other thing I wanted to comment on here . . .

I think we tend to think of the world map as always being like it is today. But it wasn’t that long ago that countries like Spain were not countries at all. The Moors controlled big parts of current Spain for hundred of years. And there were four different kingdom things within Spain – with Catalonia being one. And, interesting thing there – we were still seeing Catalonia flags while riding yesterday. I guess that state really stretched across current borders – part in Spain and part in France. Even part in tiny Angora. 

Same thing with Germany. Wasn’t really united until sometime in the 18th Century . . . When Otto Von Bismarck brought all the Prussians together. Bottom line – basically all the countries in the world seem like they are these immutable things that have always been – but really they are just made up human constructs, like everything else . . .

On to St Remy and our social engagement tomorrow . . .

Don’t know what it will be like. Every new city is like a bowl full of (store bought) cherries – you don’t know what you’re going to get . . .