Seeking Strawberries

Oh maaan. So, a few weeks ago I thought I'd go strawberry picking. Strawberries are one of my kids' favorite foods (a rare one they will BOTH eat) and I thought it would be fun to make strawberry jam because they consume PB&J like its going out of style. Anyhow, I didn't realize how short strawberry picking season is. Like, you blink and you miss it.

So when I called about going to the strawberry farm, they informed me, in the middle of the day, that it was the last day. Oh no! Not one to be defeated easily, I loaded up my jeep and drove to the middle.of.nowhere. to pick strawberries.

Maybe I should've been alarmed when there were no cars in the parking lot. Or when the old man sitting at the front desk said "you better take you a gallon of water to drink" or when I was told "you'll be lucky if you can fill up both your buckets without dyin'." Now, I've always been one of those book-smart people (read: I can write a paper on anything, but ask me to figure out something that doesn't involve getting a 4.0, and I'm pretty worthless), and Darren likes to point out that someone in the common sense department skipped over me. But I probably should've re-thought my plan. To pick strawberries. On the last day. In the heat of the day. By myself.

Nevertheless, I continued on with my buckets. For miles. A nice old gentleman gave me country directions down the fields and they involved something about turning past the 19th bale of hay and going over a bridge and past a pond and "you can't miss 'em." So I drove my trusty jeep down and down and down into the fields... and then I had a thought. I wonder what strawberry plants look like? Yes, folks. So I started to slow down every time I saw green vegetation. Are strawberries bushes? I know they aren't trees. Why haven't I ever paid attention? Then I remembered he said something about going over a bridge, and I knew I hadn't done that yet. I do know what bridges look like.

I finally arrived, and they are kind of like rows of bushes, by the way. I got out and noticed how hot it was. And oddly enough, as I stood there next to my jeep, I noticed that as far as I could see in every direction, there were no humans. Interesting. I turned on my pink ipod and figured if there were no people around, no one would mind me belting out some Brad Paisley songs while I did my picking. I grabbed my two buckets and headed over to pick the fruit I'd come so far for. Except I didn't see ANY strawberries. Rather than picking, I like to call the next part of the adventure "seeking strawberries."

Two hours later, I finally had two buckets full. The workers may or may not have been snickering at my red face, large amount of time spent, and two small buckets full of strawberries. So when the old man said, "I told you it was too hot down there," I may or may not have grinned and replied, "Sir, I'm from Alabama. It ain't even hot here." To which he replied, "Well, I guess that explains it then. Roll tide."

Moral of the story: It would probably be better to pick strawberries... early in the season. In the morning. With a few friends. But when its all said and done... they taste just as good in June.