Monday, 4 July 2011

Strawberry Picking

Every June we go strawberry picking as a family, a tradition that Rob used to do with his Mom and Oma when he was a boy.  However, this year I went strawberry picking by myself when the kids were in school as I had promised to provide fruit for the Grade 8 Graduation dinner.  June turned into July and we still hadn't gone as a family.  Rob suggested that we go cherry picking instead, reminiscing about the days he used to climb up on his parents' picnic table and pick cherries off the cherry tree till his heart was content.  Then he would guzzle water from the garden hose.  However, my daughter is no cherry picker; it had to be strawberries.  So, after making some inquiries, we found out that strawberry season has not yet passed due to the cold, wet Spring we had this year.

We headed to Brantwood Farms, parked and took our empty quart boxes into the field.  Everyone has their own technique.  I pick slowly and carefully.  My son stays in one row and picks the bright red ones that do not yet spray juice when you squeeze them.  My daughter shifts from row to row looking for the biggest strawberries.  My husband, while he picks the best strawberries, takes longer than my son because he eats half of them.  Our boxes filled to the brim and our fingertips stained red, we headed back to the shack where Rob paid Farmer Tom. 

Back at home, we gave one quart to our elderly neighbour and two quarts to my daughter's friends.  The one quart that remains will be eaten by my husband and son.  You see, my daughter and I don't even like strawberries.  We just enjoy the company we keep in the strawberry fields.  Until next year.

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