This summer's no different. Most of the strawberries have now been eaten, save for two tiny babies
that live in a pot in the backyard. Those that might have not gone into our mouths have been frozen for winter use or made into jars of jam which will mostly serve as Christmasy gifts. I couldn't help but think that my big bowl of soon-to-be-jam strawberries (above) looked a lot like little hearts.
The other day, picking raspberries, I noticed how much easier it is to pick rasps than strawbs. Strawberries, sweet though they are, require all that bending, squatting or kneeling. They mean sometimes getting mud in your fingers, as you look for berries hiding out in the low-to-the-ground leaves.
Nature seems kind in this respect. We start the season having to work for our (straw)berries. By July, we get to stand, only needing to bend now and then, as we
This all makes sense in an odd sort of consider-the-land way. In a world more guided by the changing seasons, August might see us getting complacent about laying in supplies for the cold months ahead when fresh fruit might be lacking. Could that be a reason the last major fruit of the summer should be the one that practically picks itself? Just one more thing to think about, I suppose, next time I'm out picking.