Berry Love, Part One
One of my dad’s favorite stories to share is of me, aged 4 or 5, picking strawberries at one of those pick-your-own berries farms. There I was, squatting in the midst of rows of berry-laden plants with a white bucket in hand. He happened to hear me as I tugged on the strawberries say in a sing-song voice: “One for me, one for the bucket.” This divvying up of berries has become a signature outlook ever since. Face (and shirt!) stained with juice, I joined my parents and headed to the table to pay for our haul. The farmer took one look at me and said: “Next time, little girl, I’m gonna weigh you when you come in and then weigh you on the way out!”
I’m sure I smiled sheepishly… and then plopped a couple more berries in my mouth.
Many of my favorite memories revolve around berries. There were three summers of picking the tiniest, sweetest, most fragrant berries in the forest of the Swiss Alps with my son after every meal. More than plucking the fruit, this foraging of glistening gems highlighted that beneath the surface there’s a world of wonder just waiting to be discovered. And a reminder that it’s quite splendid to eat straight from the earth.
Whenever I decide to skip down memory lane, I always pause at the food images. Maybe it’s us stopping for an older woman in Transylvania on the side of the road with a blanket of forest raspberries that she picked. Or berry-tarragon sparkling drinks at cafés in St. Petersburg, Russia, that became our drink of choice for our entire trip. Or sweet strawberry shortcake as an annual birthday cake in Chicago. The simplest things are usually the best. During this time when many of us are at home with wanderlust, I’m planning more berry-filled adventures in the near (fingers crossed) future!
