Strawberry Fields

My good friend Debbie told me that she and her son went to a U-pick strawberry farm, and got quite a bounty of strawberries. Boy, did that bring back memories of my childhood! My dad was a pastor, and when I was about 5, one of his parishioners had a U-pick strawberry farm. He invited us to come pick as much as we wanted each year. My mom, my brother, Lee, and I would all load up in the car and spend a few hours picking. I will never forget the feel of soft strawberries smashed under my knees, or the smell of the straw they spread between the rows. Most of all, I will never forget my brother lobbing soft, rotten bombs at me from several rows away, or slipping them down inside the back of my shirt and then patting my back to send the sticky ooze sliding down my spine. Gotta love brothers.

Anyway, today I got on the phone with the owner of the place Debbie recommended, and loaded up my own carful of kids to go strawberry picking. We'd only intended to pick enough for a load of jam, but there is something about that row, stretching out endlessly before you. You say you will stop with just one more handful of berries, but then, just beyond you, you see a cluster that beckons. Next thing you know, you have 5 buckets of berries, and juice staining your hands, knees, neck (from swatting the gnats that are attracted to the tropical fruit-scented sunscreen you oh-so-wisely applied before picking), and, of course, your mouth.

Justin was not so keen on the whole process, since he is not a fan of strawberries, but Matthew really got into it. We started talking about all the strawberries we've purchased at the grocery store, and how they are so big and lovely to look at, but have so little flavor compared to these little bombshells. We talked about where they might have been grown, who picked them, how long ago they were picked, how they traveled from far-away states to our little corner of the world, and how old they were by the time we got them. It was a real eye-opener for him. He decided that the life of a berry-picker was not for him!

All in all, we picked 29 pounds of strawberries, many about the size of my fingertip. I didn't fully appreciate the impact of this until I began hulling them. Do you know how many tiny strawberries it takes to make a cup? And how many caps and stems you have to remove? Matthew and I together hulled about 1/3 of our batch tonight, totaling about 22 cups, and just sighed at the sight of all the berries we didn't even begin to get to. Next time, moderation will be the word!

It will all be worth it, though, when in January we pull a box of strawberries from the freezer and put a little piece of summer in our mouths.

Note to Debbie: I wonder if you can make strawberry wine?