My strawberry haiku…ahem…

Oh sweet strawberry

Luscious red, your hidden fruit

That sounded dirty

First of the Season!

 Our first strawberries of the season ripened just in time for Memorial Day weekend. The strawberry patch is in a little square in the middle of the Chef’s Garden on the side of our house. You can see they’re just spilling out into the path. I like how they start out white and, with a little time in the sun, they turn red (like me, I guess.) Most of them end up hidden underneath the leaves, taking their own sweet time to ripen.

They smell so good. You know, I haven’t tried one yet. You’d think I’d taste-test just one, but I’m trying to gather enough to put in my breakfast yogurt. I expect they’ll be delicious. They’ve been through a lot. Someone else loved these strawberry plants before me.  When we bought the house, I had to move them, then we had to move them again, then they sat in pots getting knocked over by pigs (the neighbor’s pig got loose a few times) for a year while we built our deck. Now they’re happily blooming in their second year in the little garden next to the house. The garden Keith built for us. With love.
So it got me thinking.  These little strawberries-that-could have been shoved around, knocked over, ignored, eaten by slugs, snuffled by a pig…basically lived a hard-luck life. Now they’ve finally gotten into their groove, moved to a place that feels good and made themselves at home. They’re getting some love and you can tell they’re happy. Like me.
They’re not fruit, they’re soul food.
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