Strawberries at the Farmer's Market
Strawberries at the Farmer's Market

When I was young, my father would wake me in the early morning to go strawberry picking. He didn’t know how to do my hair, so he would stuff it in a baseball cap. The vendors would think I was a boy. Sometimes, my sister would come with us, too. The house was searched for any empty container to bring with us to the strawberry field. It was a short ten minute ride from the house. Once there, we would go from row to row, eating and picking strawberries. As we brought our containers full of strawberries to the weighing center, my father would joke that my sister and I needed to be weighed, too. Once at home, we would help my father clean and trim the strawberries. Eating and laughing. I would say, “This berry doesn’t look good. What do you think?” He would place the berry in his mouth and proclaim, “It taste good to me!” Read more