A Special Season

Strawberry season has long been one of my favorites, but it took on added meaning three years ago, when I burned much nervous energy picking and processing berries while waiting for Sarah's referral.  I will always associate the red, ripe fruit with the sweetness of seeing her face for the first time.

The season is a couple of weeks early this year and will likely be over by the time the actual anniversary rolls around on the 22nd.  And, of course, Sarah now joins me in the patch and is an able harvester herself.  She checks carefully to make sure they're "red all around" and picks about a pint before indulging herself, then repeatedly asking, "Mom, can I have just one more strawberry?" 

When we're done each day, we have a "little picnic," either on the back deck or at her table under the Grandfather Tree (our huge, old silver maple).  Our patch is past its prime, and we should have put out new plants last year, but there's still nothing like enjoying a freshly picked strawberry, knowing it's been touched only by sunlight, rain, and your very own hands.