At The Overlap

A couple of weeks ago, we borrowed a taller ladder from our landlord.

The cherry tree in our yard is enormous, and every year it feels like it just produces more. Even with the bigger ladder, there were still branches covered in fruit that we couldn’t reach. I remember looking up and thinking there was simply no realistic way anyone was ever going to pick all of those cherries.

The tree seems completely unconcerned with things like how tall ladders actually are or the number of people who might want to actually eat cherries.

For most of the year, (similar to strawberry season, which I also love), I look forward to cherry season. Those fresh, warm, red cherries, directly from the tree.

Then, for a few weeks, the problem isn’t having cherries.

It’s having too many.

More cherries than we know what to do with

There were more cherries than we could eat.

Some ended up in the fridge because cherries are one of the fruits (unlike strawberries) that I think tastes even better chilled. Some were given to neighbours and friends. Don’t forget about the ones with the tiny worms inside them. Don’t worry, we didn’t give those away. Well, at least not on purpose … There were also many that were eaten by wasps. But even still, plenty simply remained on the tree because nobody could reach them.

The interesting thing is that the cherries themselves aren’t the limitation.

Our capacity is.

I increasingly think this is true of many things.

I have a long list of saved podcasts that I genuinely wanted to listen to and even longer lists of articles that I meant to read. Every so often I become interested in a topic and disappear down a rabbit hole of papers, newsletters, and blog posts, only to come out the other side with even more things saved for later.

But I don’t think I have an information problem.

I would say that I have a capacity problem.

Having access to something and having the time and attention to make use of it are definitely not the same thing.

The cherries never seem to ripen gradually

The funny thing about our yard is that everything seems to happen early on the one side of the house. The tulips appear earlier one month earlier there. The daffodils too. Even our cherry tree on that side of the house ripens almost a month before the second one in the back yard.

You would think that having two trees might spread the season out a little.

It doesn’t.

One day the cherries look like they need another week. Then suddenly they’re ripe and you’re wondering whether you’ve already left it a little too long.

In nature, things don’t flow at a steady pace.

Nature seems to prefer bursts of things.

That’s the same with a lot of other things in life too. My work often feels that way. Some parts of the year are relatively quiet. Then there are periods when projects, workshops, and deadlines seem to arrive all at once. Nothing has necessarily changed except the timing.

Apparently, neither consulting projects nor cherry trees care much about delivering things at a pace that feels convenient for us weary humans.

One problem disappears and another one appears

I mentioned that for most of the year, I wish we had cherries.

Then the cherries arrive and I start wishing for a taller ladder, more time, and perhaps a few more people to help pick them.

The problem changes.

I spent several years working in the food industry, and one thing that often surprises people is how much from the entire amount of global food waste happens at home. In the European Union, households account for more than half of all food waste generated.

That isn’t usually because people don’t value food.

More often, it’s because life and food don’t work to the same schedule.

Plans change. Produce ripens. That broccoli doesn’t wait for you to have time to cook it. And of course, many people buy more than they can realistically use. But often not on purpose. Shopping for a few days doesn’t really match well with the fact that fresh fruit in particular can have a remarkably short window between perfectly ripe and slightly too late.

Occasionally, the reason food is wasted is simply that one cherry tree has produced more fruit than anyone nearby could comfortably keep up with.

Some things are easier to enjoy together

One of the nice things about having a cherry tree is that it naturally becomes communal.

Friends ask whether the cherries are ready yet.

Neighbours pick some.

The larger ladder came from our landlord because everyone knows that for a few weeks there are suddenly cherries everywhere.

No one could realistically eat everything that our tree produces.

And maybe that’s fine.

Some kinds of abundance seem almost designed to spill over into other people.

They become small gifts, conversations, reasons to knock on someone’s door and bring a smile to someone’s face.

Looking up at the top branches

At the end of the day and even with the taller ladder, there were still countless cherries sitting high in the tree.

Some were later picked.

Some were later shared.

Even more went to the birds and the wasps.

Some simply stayed where they were or fell to the ground.

Every year I think we’ll at least moderately keep up with the cherries.

Every year the tree quietly reminds me that abundance doesn’t arrive in amounts designed around our capacity.

It simply arrives.