"Ah, the feeling you get holding a diamond in your hand! It seems to bore into your skin, to burn, to breathe. It's like holding a bit of the moon in your hand."

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Up to the days of Indiana's early statehood, probably as late as 1825, there stood, in what is now the beautiful little city of Vincennes on the Wabash, the decaying remnant of an old and curiously gnarled cherry tree, known as the Roussillion tree, le cerisier de Monsieur Roussillion, as the French inhabitants called it, which as long as it lived bore fruit remarkable for richness of flavor and peculiar dark ruby depth of color.

— Maurice Thompson