Strawberry Fields Forever

As I sit here very early this Tuesday morning (oh, the joys of an evening mocha!), I type with red-stained fingertips. We spent about an hour and a half yesterday morning at the farm next to ours picking what I think are the absolutely best-tasting strawberries. The children required surprisingly little attention -- we put Edee in her stroller in the pavilion and laid a blanket out for the others, with various balls and frisbees nearby. They occupied themselves by eating strawberries and playing with the drink cooler the farm supplied to refresh thirsty strawberry-pickers.

  

It was the PERFECT strawberry-picking day...just like I remember them being when I would go picking (eating) as a little girl with my mother...in the 90's, blazing sun, and humid as all get-out. We could hear the occasional motorboat cruising down the river just on the other side of the trees, tempting us with the idea of ... well ... doing ANYTHING else. Ethan reminisced about picking salmon berries and wild strawberries in Alaska; and I reminisced about coming to the very same farm every year as a little girl, crazy with excitement beforehand and hot and bothered about ten minutes into it.

  

I guess the only major change from back then is that those playing on the outskirts of the field are my children and not my siblings.

  

And I did do more picking than eating...

  

And I don't remember my back hurting this much...

  

But I do remember the strawberries being this delicious. YUM.