Strawberry picking at the farm felt different this year. The wind was strong enough that it made the walk down the pebbly, unfinished path to the strawberry slopes tentative. It was blowing away the small, paper quart containers used to collect the berries, as well as the strawberry fragrance that normally wafts through the air. My summer vacation had just begun, it was a weekday, yet there were quite a few people picking fruit, including one person who said, “isn’t this better than being at work?” Besides the wind, the sun was out shining brightly, and the lady at the farm stand promised that there were plenty of berries to be picked. It is always hard to tell because the strawberries, especially when heavy and ripe bend their stems down to the ground, away from the sun and covered under an overlapping layer of leaves.
