One of the first memories I have of visiting my dad’s side of the family is picking strawberries. We always had a garden of some kind growing up in Montana, but one June we drove across three states to see my grandparents. While we visited, we went to a strawberry field. I don’t think many of the strawberries I picked actually made it to anywhere other than my mouth. They probably should have weighed me before and after so they could charge us for what I ate.
Now I don’t have to travel as far for strawberries right off the plant. These lovely little strawberries are from plants in our backyard. The plants were given to me a few years ago by a friend whose own patch couldn’t hold another plant. The most we have gotten is a handful at a time. Now we actually have to get a strainer. Other than the few that could have used a little more time in the sun, they are delicious.
Today I am thankful for backyard strawberries.