Just enjoyed myself some sweet summer strawberries I had bought on sale at the store today. Fresh fruit is a bit of a treat for me these days as fresh produce is rarely a bargain when you’re on a budget unless you can grow your own. Fresh strawberries always take my mind back to a happier, more carefree time in my life. A time of blissful ignorance.
As a small child, my backyard was not very large but my mother managed to have a decent size garden in which she grew all sorts of fruits and veggies. This didn’t leave much room for four very active children to run around in, but two cousins, my sister and I managed fine. My mother, hoping to be able to recruit helpers sometimes, taught us how to tell when things were ripe and ready to be picked. Eventually when I learned to be sneaky, I would sneak the occasional cucumber or strawberry from the patch, run to the garden hose to rinse off my small plunder, and enjoy a nice snack. The cucumbers and strawberries were my favorites. I was careful not to take too many so that the adults didn’t notice. I think eventually my mother did catch on, but as long as I didn’t make a little piggy out of myself she would not say anything. I could have sworn I seen a little motherly side smirk on occasion. You know, the kind of smirk a parent tries to hide when their child is doing something they’ve told them not to do but it’s just so cute they have a hard time scolding. Besides, at least I was eating my fruits and veggies like a growing kid should. Some seasons, we would have a good crop giving us enough to make homemade strawberry jam or mash them up to a pulp and put on cakes or ice cream. Nothing says summer like fresh strawberry dessert topping. Ahh simpler times when all was happy before all of the shit hit the fan.