All Over the Strawberries

Pounce while you can

Issue 28: From Sara Kate

I did something silly this year, and I really should know better. I let the strawberries rot on the vine. This was the first time I grew them in the city; last fall I brought runners from my plants upstate down to share with friends and had so many I jammed a few here in there in the herb pots on my back deck. Come April, I started seeing some action: little buds emerging from the fresh green leaves that had my sun and warmth-starved soul doing mental cartwheels of joy at the thought of snacking on these treasures in the coming months. 

But sure enough, I coveted them perhaps a little too much. It starts well-meaningly, as caution: “don’t pick them yet, they’re not quite prime” and then a few days pass and they are suddenly past-prime. I managed to get one into my daughter’s belly one day last week when I had to leave before she left for school and I sent her a text saying “there’s one perfect strawberry in the pot outside the middle window - have it for breakfast!” Feeling guilty I wasn’t home to kiss her goodbye, this berry felt like the perfect (if not superior - at almost sixteen I doubt she shared my wistfulness) replacement for a mother’s morning affection.