Strawberry Fields Forever

And ever and ever and ever…


Ryan and I took the kiddos to go strawberry picking the other day. I know there are those among you who claim that good strawberries only come from California, but the Oregon berries have them beaten by a mile. Smaller and sweeter and a season that lasts all of about two weeks.


Katherine was very excited. Obvi.


Mark showing me his strawberries, and hiding behind them, apparently.


I told Mark a dozen times that we shouldn’t eat the strawberries (because dirt) and we had to save them for when we got home. Then, I looked at him and he had half a berry in his hand.
Ann: Did you eat some of the berry?
Mark: (through a stuffed mouth): Yes.
Ann: Well, no more because we have to save them.
Mark: Okay.
I looked away and looked back and now there was no part of a berry in his hand.
Ann: Did you eat the rest of your berry?!
Mark: Yeah.
Ann: The green part too?
Mark: (while making gross face) Yeah.
Ann: Well, spit it out!


Ryan used to pick on his family’s farm, so he was really far ahead of me and the kids. Mark dutifully ran back and forth to move our orange placeholder flags and send messages.



We left when Ryan’s box was full and we had 20 pounds of strawberries between the two of us. So, I spent the better part of the next 24 hours cleaning and hulling strawberries.




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