Nina Simone wailing “strawberries” from her “Porgy and Bess Medley” was running through my head as we picked and picked and picked Monday night.
After a four-day hiatus, we topped off bowl and after bowl after bowl — all from our own, albeit overgrown, bed. Over the past week or so, the two-tiered bed had produced enough to be sliced over several salads, sweetened for delicious desserts, and fill 10 freezer containers, a quart or two at a time.
The process was running so smoothly that I had crowed to my mother about how lovely it was not to be so overwhelmed by berries. Picking them at home instead of at a nearby farm meant I could slice and macerate them little by little — instead of 40 quarts-worth at once.
This way, my hands wouldn’t hurt from holding the knife; my feet wouldn’t stiffen from standing still; my fingernails wouldn’t be stained for days.
What a treat!
Until Monday.
We were at an art fair last weekend, so the juicy, red treasures had gone untouched since Thursday evening. The deer deterrent I had sprayed worked wonders keeping away the squirrels, so the vines were loaded.
After the first bowl, my husband, Kevin, joined me. We’d carefully find berry-free spots for our feet, then sweep aside the lush, green leaves to uncover the ruby gems below. Some were as pretty as pictures — so much so that we had to show them off to each other.
“Look at this one,” Kevin exclaimed, holding up a prime specimen. “I never get ones this perfect!”
I have to admit some weren’t as sweet as they could be — I’ve made a notation in my garden book to make sure we water them sufficiently in mid-May. We can’t control the sun and heat, and it seems to take all three to make a big, sweet, juicy berry.
Even so, macerated in a little sugar, they’re so dripping with quintessential strawberryness, I can forgive them during this inaugural harvest.
All three varieties I selected were bred to produce well in home gardens in this climate — and so they have.
“Strawberries!”
As we continued to pick, that distinctive uptick at the end of the word in Nina Simone’s deep, throaty voice served as the perfect soundtrack.
After a four-day hiatus, we topped off bowl and after bowl after bowl — all from our own, albeit overgrown, bed. Over the past week or so, the two-tiered bed had produced enough to be sliced over several salads, sweetened for delicious desserts, and fill 10 freezer containers, a quart or two at a time.
The process was running so smoothly that I had crowed to my mother about how lovely it was not to be so overwhelmed by berries. Picking them at home instead of at a nearby farm meant I could slice and macerate them little by little — instead of 40 quarts-worth at once.
This way, my hands wouldn’t hurt from holding the knife; my feet wouldn’t stiffen from standing still; my fingernails wouldn’t be stained for days.
What a treat!
Until Monday.
We were at an art fair last weekend, so the juicy, red treasures had gone untouched since Thursday evening. The deer deterrent I had sprayed worked wonders keeping away the squirrels, so the vines were loaded.
After the first bowl, my husband, Kevin, joined me. We’d carefully find berry-free spots for our feet, then sweep aside the lush, green leaves to uncover the ruby gems below. Some were as pretty as pictures — so much so that we had to show them off to each other.
“Look at this one,” Kevin exclaimed, holding up a prime specimen. “I never get ones this perfect!”
I have to admit some weren’t as sweet as they could be — I’ve made a notation in my garden book to make sure we water them sufficiently in mid-May. We can’t control the sun and heat, and it seems to take all three to make a big, sweet, juicy berry.
Even so, macerated in a little sugar, they’re so dripping with quintessential strawberryness, I can forgive them during this inaugural harvest.
All three varieties I selected were bred to produce well in home gardens in this climate — and so they have.
“Strawberries!”
As we continued to pick, that distinctive uptick at the end of the word in Nina Simone’s deep, throaty voice served as the perfect soundtrack.
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