God could have made a better berry than the strawberry,
but doubtless God never did.
-William Allen Butler
Dreams of strawberry shortcake, strawberry jam, strawberry smoothies, and cream and strawberries danced through my head yesterday as I straw-mulched Freeman House's strawberry row. The plants are blooming now, and tiny little strawberries are lying-in-wait, patiently expecting the warm sun and spring rains to coax them to maturity. I have buckets already for the harvesting of said berries, and can hear that dreamy sound now - the plunk, plunk, plunk as plump, juicy berries leave strawberry row for the bottom of old, tin pails.
I've planted three varieties of strawberries this year, and am excited to see which becomes the favorite. As I finished my work yesterday evening, I noticed several bees buzzing contentedly around the patch. It felt like summer. The air tasted of summer. I can't wait.
When my work was done I wasn't ready to go in, so last night, in true death-of-superfluity spirit, I dragged a wicker chair to strawberry row, stretched out, and drank iced tea under the setting sun. I sat there until twilight, listening to birds and distant passing trains. When the stars began to wink, I put away my chair and bid the strawberries goodnight, dreaming of the Saturday morning when we can spoon their fresh jam onto hot, buttery biscuits.
It was the loveliest evening I'd had all week.
Strawberry mulch: $0
Sun-brewed iced tea with fresh mint: $0 (a few pennies, maybe)
An evening in strawberry row under the stars: priceless