Summer Strawberries 🍓

There is something particularly wonderful about strawberries. I’ve never had a summer that doesn’t involve these sweet little fruits. They aren’t the same when you buy them in January. They always seem so sad, sitting half stale in their little plastic boxes. They never last either, looking sadder and sadder at the back of the fridge until they’re finally tossed. Like most fruits and vegetables, they are better right off the plant, out in the sunshine. Preferably picked barefoot with a drink in your hand.

Strawberries aren’t only delicious, they hold a special place for me in my memories of summer.

Growing up we would go to my grandmothers cottage and hunt for them in the grass, they would grow wild around the property but they were rare.

On occasion she’d take us berry picking and we’d all pile into her blue pickup and rip down the highway in a sort of clown car scenario with kids tucked into whatever space there was. Grandma would tear down the highway and tell us to duck down whenever there was oncoming traffic. It was presumably very dangerous, but we didn’t really care or think about that, it was just fun at the time. Plus usually there was a huge heard of us grandkids so she didn’t have much choice if we were all going to go. So she’d load up the car full of kids and we’d head to the nearest farm with our baskets. Inevitably we ended up eating more then we took home, but it didn’t matter. Then usually grandma would let one of us try driving on the way home, back on the dirt road. The only requirement being you were tall enough to reach the petals and see above the windshield or small enough to work the steering wheel while sitting on grandmas lap. When we got older grandma let us ride in the bed of the truck down the old dirt road. We couldn’t have been going more then 10km/hour but it felt like we were flying. I remember being so excited at the prospect of strawberry picking, something that faded for a while.

Now that I’ve got my own backyard though, the passion has rekindled. I’m trying to make a strawberry bed of my very own, with mixed success. I used to have quite the brown thumb, but I’m slowly getting better with practice. Like a lot of people the pandemic gave me the chance to really focus on my garden. I’ve experimented with lots of fruits and veggies but I have found strawberries to be a particular challenge. Growing them from seed proved impossible. Several attempt were made with very little success. Then bare root plants and planters worked for a season, but were killed quite thoroughly after the first frost and never recovered. It’s frustrating working so hard to get these stubborn little plants going out west when they seemed to just grow like weeds back home. I am, however, determined. This year I will establish a patch worthy of any backyard farm.

The other day I got to eat my first fruit. It was sweet and juicy and satisfying, mostly because I could just walk out my back door and eat it. It was from a plant I bought this year, but I’m hoping with some effort and forethought, these little guys will make it through winter. I’ve had to pinch off most of the flowers so they’ll establish themselves, but I couldn’t help but leave a few to enjoy this year.

If I could grow enough to eat, freeze, and preserve, that would be the dream. At the very least I want to be able to make one jar of jam to last me through winter. It would be nice to open it up when it’s -40 outside and be reminded that spring will happen again one day. It’s a bit of an “old soul” goal in life, but you’ve got to strive for the little things just as much as the big ones.

I miss my summers at home. I miss the lakes and the heat. I miss being a kid and not having to work all summer, wondering around in shorts, picking strawberries, then reading a book. It’s hard growing up, but now that I’ve got my own place, I’m trying to bring a little bit of that summer back. Even it if takes me years to finally have a patch of my own.