We took our annual trip to the strawberry fields to load up on red ripe goodness.
We’ve been visiting this same farm since my oldest boy was just a year old. I know it will shock you that I get a little sappy thinking about all the times that their stubby little legs have travelled those rows. If I close my eyes, I swear I can still see their berry-stained baby faces.
I have to tell you though, there’s something be said for having BIG boys around when you’re farming. They got in there, got busy, and filled those buckets up fast!
No one lost their shoes or cried about the bugs or had to be reminded not to walk on top of the plants. I didn’t have to chase anyone down or hold anyone over the porta-potty seat. No one ate the green berries, tops and all. No one fell out of the wagon or whined that they were thirsty and it was too hot.
They just. picked. strawberries.
They picked enough for this year’s jam-making and plenty more for just plain eatin’.
It was lovely.
This growing up thing? It isn’t ALL bad. Big boys are kinda wonderful.
Besides, they’re all old enough now that they remember that after the berry picking comes the Bluebonnet Cafe.
They know that if they if they pick well and they pick fast, there’s mmm mmm good diner fair in it for ’em. Burgers, onion rings, fried okra, chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, gravy, corn on the cob, and pie. Oh heavens, y’all, the pie!!! Coconut, chocolate, peanut butter, lemon, cherry, pecan, apple. They actually have a “Pie Happy Hour.” For real. I think the phrase “a little slice of heaven” was created just for the Bluebonnet. I really do.
You wouldn’t want to eat like that every day, mind you, but honestly, if you’re gonna work like a field hand, you ought to get to eat like one. Right?
On the way home, my hard working men had just one question: “When will the blackberries be ready for picking?”