One of my berries, overlooking the patch.
Eliza harvesting berries.
I picked strawberries for the first time on Saturday. Eliza had always been the one to go out picking berries. Last year we attempted to pick some blueberries but that never panned out (the place was picked clean before we ever got there). This year though she was sure to get out into the fields before the berries were all gone.
Picking strawberries is actually a fun, relaxing outing. The weather was nice, the scenery was equally great, and we ended up getting several pounds of strawberries for a lot less than we would if we bought them at the market or grocery store.
My bucket.
Now the biggest choice we have ahead of us is how we’re going to use the strawberries we picked. Strawberry shortcake, fruit smoothies, jelly or jam, and a slew of other possibilities are all possible. It is strange how my taste for strawberries has grown this year over any other year. As I’ve gotten older my taste for things has certainly changed, and my palate enjoys a much wider range of foods than it ever has, but I’m pretty surprised that strawberries might make the list this year.
Here is a theory of mine. When you have direct contact with where something comes from, you’re more apt to appreciate it. I never thought I’d like wine before I turned 21. And even after I had it took a little while before Eliza and I went wine tasting and really began to have a love for wine. This seems to be happening again with strawberries. Going out into the fields and picking some berries myself, eating them directly out of the patch, really makes the experience much better and now I’m finding myself liking strawberries much more.
Rows and rows of berries.
I’m looking forward to going again next year and, perhaps, mustering up the energy to pick enough berries to make strawberry wine.
