Thursday, June 23, 2011

Strawberries

We decided to go strawberry picking on Sunday, just me and the kids. Sunday was also Father's Day, and so I told David that since we would be out strawberry picking, we would not be providing him breakfast in bed. Instead, his Father's Day present would be that he could sleep as late has he wanted. Since his normal weekday wake-up time is around noon, he never gets to "sleep in" in the sense of sleeping later than his schedule normally allows. That's because at 12:01 I am usually pounding on the bedroom door yelling HELP HELP HELP ME WITH THE KIDS! ALSO THE BABY IS FLUSHING ALL MY PERCOSET DOWN THE TOILET.

Going strawberry picking is a summer tradition in the family, in the sense that we went last year. That's the great thing about having little kids. It's so easy to call something a tradition, even if you've only done it once before. After all, we've gone strawberry picking every summer since Walter was born. It's a tradition!

For reasons which made sense to me at the time, we decided to go strawberry picking at a location two and a half hours away. I wanted to visit the farm from which we get our CSA (community supported agriculture) vegetable box, which was hosting a strawberry picking day. If you don't know what a CSA is, it's a sort of subscription to a farm, which in our case means that we get a weekly box of organic, locally grown vegetables for nine months out of the year. We've found that having a CSA has transformed our eating habits for the better, and we always have a fridge chock full delicious vegetables. On the negative side, having a CSA means we are forced against our will to encounter the occasional eggplant. But it can't all be rainbows and sunshine.

So we drove up to the CSA farm to strawberry pick, and thankfully there was minimal interference between Stella and Baby W in the back seat on the way there. She's pretty hard on him, but the good news is that when Baby W grows up, he is going to be a fast runner in part based on all the practice he gets trying to flee from Stella's abuse. (As an aside: I remember English teachers encouraging us to avoid the passive voice in writing and speaking, but I never really understood why until the other day when Baby W suddenly started crying very loudly, out of the blue. What happened, I asked Stella. She explained: "His hand got bit by my mouth.")

We made it up to the farm without anybody in the back seat losing a limb or any of their major organs. There was a potluck at the farm, including goat tacos, which were made by the men who work on the farm. The tacos were delicious -- delicious enough that I seriously considered ditching this budget analysis gig I have and becoming a Mexican agricultural laborer instead.

We also got a wagon tour of the farm, and here you can see Stella on the wagon giving her normal loving embrace to Baby W:


The wagon tour was fun but lasted forever. You can only see so many fields of kohlrabi before going a little stir crazy. Stella got bored pretty quickly, but entertained herself by taking pictures of her favorite subject:



Finally it was time for strawberry picking! But by that time, Walter really needed a nap, Stella was tuckered out from all the activities, and even I was ready to go home. So we quickly picked two quarts of berries, not including all the ones that went in our mouth, and hightailed it out of there. One of the quarts of berries we ate on the car ride home, meaning that by the time we got back to the house, all we had to show for five hours of driving was a single quart of berries (which was gone by the next day). 

Still, it was a fun outing, and I'm hoping we can go strawberry picking -- at a closer location -- at least one more time this season. After all, it's a tradition.

1 comment:

  1. A lot of effort, but at least your kids will likely know where their food comes from. I took CJ to our CSA, pre-kid, and upon seeing the pumpkin patch he asked "do pumpkins grow underground?" He is smart, scary smart, when it comes to math and all things academic. But he grew up in Tampa, Florida, and never went to a farm. Thanks your efforts Stella and Walter's future partner won't look at them at wonder, just how clueless about food are you?

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