Strawberry picking.

I went strawberry picking today.

What am I going to do with the berries? No idea, really. But it felt right to jump in the car this morning and drive to the nearest pick-your-own patch.  My local weather app said the rain would’t start until the afternoon but the sky grew darker as I drove. I still managed to pick a fairly full box before the rain began.

Strawberry picking is just one of those things I love to do. Summer doesn’t feel right if it doesn’t happen. It’s most likely because I grew up doing it. I remember going with my friend, Lynn, when we were in high school. I’d bring the berries home and make strawberry pies and freezer jam until the counters were full. I remember once, before I was able to drive, when my Grandma Vera was sick and unable to pick herself, she drove me to the patch and sat in the car while I picked her ice cream buckets of berries for her. I’m pretty sure the jam-making drive came from her.

I’m okay with that. Dave is too. I’ve finally convinced him that strawberry rhubarb jam is something to be revered and enjoyed. Perhaps another batch is in my future.