We first came to a cherry garden, where the cherry trees were next to each other, covered with bright dark red cherries, like red pearls. I picked one at random and put it in my mouth, which immediately overflowed with dark red sweet juice. Ah, how sweet! I'm so happy. So I said to Grandma as I ate, "let's have a cherry picking competition. Let's see who picks more." The competition started, but "the cherry is delicious and the fruit is hard to pick". The low part is less ripe, and the high part is beyond my reach. What should I do? I looked around and saw the old farmer picking cherries and climbing to the tree with the help of a wooden ladder. If he couldn't reach it, he would hook the branch with a small hook, pull towards him and lean forward to pick the big red cherries. I had an idea. I also learned from the old man and climbed to the tree to pick cherries. But when I climbed up the tree, either the leaves were blocking my sight and I couldn't find the fruit, or the branches were swinging. I was in a panic. I was afraid of stepping into the air and falling down. I picked it carefully, but only one or two at a time. Climbing to the tree to pick tired, I went down to the ground squatting pick, took a good effort to pick a small basket. Looking back at grandma, she picked only half the basket. Great. I picked the most cherries. When I see the fruits of my work, I'm not so happy.
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