The Strawberry Patch

Years ago when I was single and checking friends' blogs I couldn't help thinking that all they did was go fruit picking with their beautiful children perfectly posed in idyllic settings. Today I had my first dose of fruit picking. Yeah, Wee Boy wouldn't pose and it was less than idyllic, but it was memorable all the same.

I met up with some friends this morning to pick strawberries at a local Mennonite farm. The farm and the weather were totally idyllic. I got there a little early and started picking with Wee Boy sitting on the ground beside me. At first he started crying when I would walk away to forage for berries, but soon he stopped and I kept picking. When I finally looked over to see how he was faring, I saw his face, hands and knees dripping with strawberry juice. From then on it was a cycle of him eating red, green, or mushy strawberries (completely whole mind you) I would take them away and he would start crying. Every now and again he would amuse himself with simply playing in the dirt or sitting in his stroller. During those times I would pick as fast as I could. Then another cycle of eating and crying would start all over again. My other two friends had similarly less than idyllic experiences with their own children and I thought, this is what my friends' blogs don't share - children eating what they shouldn't, picking the bad fruit, and being less than admirable little child laborers. It was really fairly amusing when all was said and done and I'll probably go back, but maybe not next summer when I'll have another almost 1-year old to contend with.

 But at least I got all sorts of beautiful strawberry freezer jam out of the experience.