Block · one region of the page, as the scanner read it. It may hold a whole story, part of one, several, or an advertisement; stitching blocks into articles is the next step. Text is supplied OCR.
Page 11 · column 1 of 5 · from the scan, no model involved
By Bill Kossler
Rappahannpck News Staff Writer
What could possibly be finer than to go out on a fine June day, to a breezy mountaintop and pick pounds and pounds of sweet ripe cherries in the sun? Picking cherries with Gary Sellers, the charismatic dynamo who founded Cherries-QnTbp outside of Flint Hill.
The dnve up to Sellers' thousand tree orchard is not for the faint of heart. A sign at the entrance advises you not to slow down as you gun it up the hill. This is good advice as the rutted roadway is narrow and steep. But the climb and the wear and tear on your vehicle is worth it. And if you have four-wheel drive, then life is gravy.
The season is short, but during those few prime weeks, fat bunches of ripe juicy red, purple and yellow cherries hang heavy and shine brightly in the sun, just begging to be plucked and popped into your mouth. As you gaze out over the valley below, you drink in a bucolic landscape painted from a pallet of a hundred shades of green. Old Rag Mountain looks back at you sleepily in the distance, through a blue-gray haze. Winter has faded to a memory, and you can feel the onrush of summer in the warm breeze and verdant aromas of unknown trees and plants all around.
For a little while life really can be a bowl of cherries that fills your soul and your belly 'til you are stuffed. Too rhapsodic? Say that
91.8%