The love of my life left me last July when I was visiting my parents and for the first few days I was kind of in shock, like I really didn't know what to do with myself. This is something I legitimately did not see coming and all I could do was replay past events over and over in my mind, looking for clues. My brain was aflutter, but my hands really needed something to do.My mom is a little crazy about the end of the world and owns this wildly expensive food dehydrator, intent on dehydrating enough food to keep us all alive when the zombies come.I found myself mindlessly digging through her freezer (definitely not looking for frozen Snickers bars) and finding gallons and gallons of frozen cherries in Ziploc bags. She had frozen them with the intent of pitting them and dehydrating them at some point in the future because she had no cherry pitter on hand when cheeries went on sale.Feeling, as I was, like the end of the world was at hand, I jumped on my phone and ordered this ☝️cherry pitter from Amazon. It arrived before dinner and I spent the next two days sitting on my parents porch, pitting cherries and considering how exactly I had ended up where I was.Was it because I broke up with Jason Barnes at church camp the summer before 9th grade, which led to me not being friends with his sister anymore in high school and instead hanging out at "Smoker's Corner" between classes?I didn't even smoke. Not a single cigarette in my entire life. But the teachers knew who hung out there and must have judged us accordingly, which explains why Mr. Bird wrote such a lukewarm college recommendation for me despite the fact that he once accused me of plagerism because an essay that I wrote seemed to be "beyond my years". He couldn't prove the crime he suspected me of because the internet didn't exist yet, but I always wondered how much different my life could have been if Mr. Bird would have embraced fledgling ability rather than dismissed me as a literary interloper who probably smoked. As it was, my recommendation was definitely what one would consider "state school" quality.If I had gotten into a more serious college, I might have not ended up running the ice luge at the Pi Kappa Alpha's annual Tequila Fest, where I met a disarmingly attractive boy who was far too mature to be on his knees doing tequila shots from an ice sculpture and instead wrote in a brown leather journal, looking over at me occasionally from his spot on the top bunk bed in the corner of the room, as if to say that he thought that I, too, was above this childishness.Perhaps he wouldn't have had someone else take over the luge so that he could impress me with his stoic pretense and stories of racing sailboats on the great lakes. He might never have gotten to use the line, "I'm a sailor. I'm good with knots" on a girl and have it work even though he had been carrying that one around for years in preparation for that very moment.And maybe if I hadn't fallen asleep with stoic sailor boy who was good with knots then we would have remembered to take the ice luge outside after the party rather than waking up to carpet that was soaked with 42 gallons of melted ice that soaked the clothes lying on the bedroom floor and forced me to steal some from a nearby dresser, which turned out to belong to a guy whose girlfriend would become my lifelong bestie when she showed up at my sorority house the next day wanting her greek week sweatshirt back.Then SHE wouldn't have known someone who gave me my first job out of college, which would move me to a new town by the water where I would find myself sitting on a dock at the marina, writing in my own brown leather journal, on a Saturday morning when the place filled up with yacht racers.A young, handsome guy would not have asked me if I was taking notes and if I wanted to learn to sail. There would have been no reason for me to reply that no, I was not interested in sailing, but I was interested in meeting someone who was good with knots.🪢And that, friends, is how I ended up, five years later, sitting back at home in my parents house pitting six gallons of cherries and wondering through my tears and scarlet-soaked hands if Mr. Bird was happy with himself and if Jason Barnes still lived in town.And the cherry pitter was a gem.

If you are looking for a quality cherry pattern look no further. I have to admit I was skeptical at first but I would recommend this pattern to anyone.

Works like a charm. The only warning is to wear an apron or lower the tool in a container. I use empty fruit clamshells to catch the pits and splatters. Cherries are juicy and there will be some splattering.Haven’t tried on pitted olives but have read it’s good for olive pits too.

Love this to pit our cherries for our 3 year old to make them safe to eat quickly. Easy to rinse and clean off. Does well, but sometimes splashes the juice unexpectedly. Very convenient overall!

This has saved me so much time when baking! It’s easy to use and clean!

Well made. Holds up. Easy to use. Lil grandkids couldn't squeeze it but they loaded it for me. We had quite a good system going and worked thru the cherries in nothing flat. Easy to use and doesn't hurt my hands. Bought one for my daughter too and she loves her also. Highly recommend!

There is something satisfying about using this cherry pitter tool. It is so easy to use. I remove the stem first, place the cherry in the well, and then press down the handle and poof! I have a bowl handy to place the pitted cherries in. I just held the pitter over my kitchen trash can so the pit goes right into the trash can but you could just use a bowl and empty it all at once into the trash can.

We ordered this because we went cherry picking at a local farm. It worked well on larger cherries, but anything considered average or medium, it took longer than just doing it by hand. The pit would simply stay in the cherry when squeezed. So, if you have large cherries, this is recommended. For smaller/medium, no.