With the exception of our neighbor's cottonwood tree shedding malicious fluff all over the place it is downright pleasant to be outside right now. It smells like summer should. And both the good and the bad news are that the strawberries in my parents' yard are galloping toward ripe.
Picking strawberries is one of those perfectly idyllic activities that everyone in our family loves.... in small doses. There may be no more satisfying sound than the zippy snap of a perfectly ripe strawberry that lets go of it's stem with ease when tugged on. We all seem to adore plucking in 5 minute increments. Longer than that and it is at risk of becoming a chore.
The smell that's leaving hints in the kitchen as the boys bring me present-piles of a dozen berries here and there is sweetness personified. It's all accumulating into a mound of fleshy rubies, from which we nibble when we think no one is watching. And I would love love love to put my life on hold to make some jam. But this is not a terribly convenient moment for jam-making.
Remember, wedding? moving?
Yeah.
So I reluctantly send myself inside the house to work. But I have trouble disciplining my kids for sneaking back outside to play. It's pretty irresistible out there.
The smell that's leaving hints in the kitchen as the boys bring me present-piles of a dozen berries here and there is sweetness personified. It's all accumulating into a mound of fleshy rubies, from which we nibble when we think no one is watching. And I would love love love to put my life on hold to make some jam. But this is not a terribly convenient moment for jam-making.
Remember, wedding? moving?
Yeah.
So I reluctantly send myself inside the house to work. But I have trouble disciplining my kids for sneaking back outside to play. It's pretty irresistible out there.
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