Tending the Garden

June in Ithaca.  For the past week or so, all I have been able to think about is strawberries.  I wasn’t even sure if it was strawberry season, but I couldn’t stop thinking about them.  And sure enough, this week at the farmers’ market there were the first little baskets piled high with them.  I bought some and most of them were tiny, and they were all different shapes.  I ate all of them, plain, in one sitting.

There was also a strawberry festival about a half an hour away yesterday, and John obligingly took me to it.  I sort of imagined that the festival would involve booths and tables replete with the freshest red strawberries, and happy people just eating strawberries out of the little turquoise baskets or maybe eating some very fresh food made with the strawberries, and red sticky strawberry juice dripping down everyone’s fingers to their…

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