On Friday Whitney and I went and picked strawberries at this fantastic farm in Maryland. I swear, there is something about being in the fresh clean air, with acres of green in every direction that just makes the world seem right. I have this secret fantasy of living on a farm and living off the fat o' the land (which is why I loved this book). But the not-so-secret is that I hate bugs more than anything in this world. And I hate yard work. So, unless I could just sit on a bug-free porch year round and enjoy the fruits of other people's farm labors . . . I'm not so sure it's a plausible fantasy.
So, it was, like, the very last day of strawberry season, and the berries were tiny and mostly smooshy and gross, so the picking was slow and nearly fruitless (ha!), but I came home with 4 pounds of strawbs, nonetheless.
Then I found out that Whitney doesn't even like strawberries (or cherries!), and I felt bad for dragging her along, because it was so hot and bright and over an hour away. But she didn't seem to mind. And when I got home and went through the berries, I found that most weren't as good as I had thought. I think I had to toss out about half our loot. With the remaining berries, Sam and I made some fantastic milk shakes, and tonight I relived this post and made some jam, which I feel really happy about. Last year, after making jam, I lamented that I wouldn't be able to keep any of the jam I made because of our imminent move. Three cheers for not having to move this year, because I might just keep all this jam to myself (just to make up for last year).