June 9, 2010: Strawberries

For the last two weeks, every time I go grocery shopping, I find myself holding up box after box of strawberries, looking for the best assortment.  Finally, impatient with my quest for perfection, I realize they are all about the same, and I just stick one in the cart.   Pushing on with the rest of my shopping, I wonder what I was really searching for among all those identical boxes of berries. And then the door of memory opens, and I am back  among the endless rows of berry plants.  I jump as mosquitoes swarm, and my mother warns, "Be careful not to step on the plants!" I am new to berry picking, and ask repeatedly, "Is this one ripe enough?" Sometimes I just stand and watch the other pickers. Some women crouch, but most bend over. Every so often, one woman stands and arches her back, sighs, and then quickly grabs more wooden quart baskets and begins picking again. "Berries are sweeter this year than last," Aunt Doris remarks while she and my mother have a quick coffee and cookie break. "Yes, the smaller ones are the best," my mother says. "Remember when Lu put rocks in the bottom of the basket?" Mom asks. Aunt Doris laughs and says, "And when those city folks stopped at our stand, they asked her if they were all berries, and she said yes!"  My mother rolls her eyes and shrugs.   Finally we have our twelve quarts. My mother puts them in the trunk, we pay the farmer, and head home. She spends the rest of the afternoon making strawberry jam, and my first experience with chemistry is waiting to hear the "pop" when the jar lids seal.   So, if you will excuse me, I'm going to have a few strawberries before I return to my art studio. Their sweet juiciness takes me back to the fields of stored memories that I cultivate for fresh inspiration.