Sunday, June 26, 2011
Last week, my father and I sat on the farmhouse porch swing and polished off a quart of three-day-old strawberries that were long past their prime. They'd started to soften and turn. We ate them anyway. Dad popped one in his mouth and told me that when he was a kid, he and his siblings (there are seven of them) would wait with bubbling anticipation for their father's strawberries and asparagus. The winter's canned food and potatoes would have grown so dull that by May and June the fresh, early summer berries and veggies were thrilling. Then he told me that all they ate for two months was asparagus and strawberries. By late June they would have eaten so much of the two that they'd be ready for another ten months without either. There was never any asparagus to be had in October, and that was just fine.