I went strawberry picking today. Yeah. There is something so good and right and nice about getting to pick your own food. Really nice that you don't have to take all of the time and effort to grow it and yet still get the thrill of getting to be the one to pull it from it's source. Strawberries are something that takes a bit of patience. It is hard to fill a box that is big, with berries that are not so big. It makes you somehow feel more connected to nature or something, plus it tastes amazing to get things fresh from the farm. And I like the work that goes in to it, like going and buying some already picked takes a bit of the fun out of it and would feel like cheating.
I had a nice time getting the strawberries. Also, I was assisted by the woman and man who were telling us which rows to pick from. The lady even took me to try three different kinds of berries. (I never thought of there being more than one kind.) Also, the two of them picked some of the berries that ended up going home with me. How nice and helpful of them. This one kind that I got, has white spots, on purpose. It is some sort of marbled strawberry. Yum. Now I have to figure out all what to do with 11 pounds of strawberries.
This evening was a really nice evening with housemates. There was an impromptu house dinner, with 7 people in attendance. We sat, we ate, we laughed, there was music, there was good food, and there was dinner without a rush or time limit. How nice. I will miss these parts of living with people.
Why is it that towards the end of something, you get nostalgic about it?
1 comment:
it's so pleasant when picking goes home with you. my memories of strawberry weeding are too full of big spiders, some long skinny black bugs rushing up your arm, heavy sun as you look toward the berry lines, gentle breeze as you stand and stretch a moment and see rolling green hills under giant beautiful clouds, story telling with friends while trying not to squash the berries behind you, and at the end of the day comparing surprisingly asymetrical sunburns. :). even so, once we stopped having flashbacks of yanking out pasty white weed ropes, it was a grand experience to hold onto.
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