Last year we missed strawberry season. I wanted to take the kids to a strawberry patch, and then we got busy, and it fell off the radar. But that's the thing about strawberry season—blink and you’ll miss it.
This year, I marked it firmly on the calendar.
We found a u-pick patch (a shrinking commodity) about an hour away. A tiny operation, with a small "strawberries" sign at the end of their driveway. No big hay bale maze or goats to pet. Just strawberries—and, lordy, that was more than enough.
Over the winter, you forget what real strawberries are supposed to taste like. You forget they’re supposed to be red all the way through. That they’re best fresh off the vine.
We picked and picked. We walked away with over 25 pounds. I think the kids ate at least a few pounds while we were in the patch. We tried to pay for those, but the farmer smiled and said, “That’s part of the fun of picking!”
Straight home to make jam, where I now have a whole year’s worth in the pantry. I meant to get more for freezing, but we didn't pick enough. Next year, I'll know to pick about 40 pounds and to bring large pans or boxes so the berries don’t get crushed.
And in a few years? Hopefully, our very own patch!