Although it's still early in the season, we took Samson strawberry picking on Saturday. If you haven't done this recently, do yourself a favor and get out there.
Is there anything sweeter than a strawberry just picked?
I don't want to get all Thoreau on you, but there is something elementally satisfying about eating food at the source. The taste of a strawberry --- slightly warm from the sun's rays and full of a sweetness that could only be organic --- had a kind of Proustian effect, transporting me back to when I was a child and my sister and I would go picking with our parents, eating far more than we put in the little baskets we had in our red wagon.
As I stood in the mid-morning sunlight, with a cool May breeze blowing and the leaves of the strawberry plants rippling like tiny waves on a great green lake, I listened to Samson chattering "strawberries, strawberries" as he searched for spots of red on the ground.
The sky above seemed infinite and impossibly blue, and for just a few moments, the whole world compressed into that quarter-acre patch of little red berries.
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