Ripe for the Pickin’

“When the strawberries are ready-

It use to be –

When I was a young on’ –

Back in the good ol’ days –

Back when the strawberries were ripe for the pickin’ –

In the spring of my life-“


Sometimes it’s hard not to let the mind wander into the past. Those days often seem more vivid that the current ones. Especially if days are filled with so much activity it’s hard to remember if you are coming or going!  The past has its way of creeping up on us in ways that sometimes smack us right on the forehead. 

Being springtime and the graduation, wedding, moving to new places, going to new things time of year makes those of us with less new-mess in our lives tend to the nostalgia. It’s not our fault that changes are much slower coming.

Strawberries have always been a June kind of thing. With an ever beating variety, we will pretend it is June every six to eight weeks in Greenfield Greenhouse.  Once when the girls were junior high age we had the opportunity to go pick someone’s strawberry patch while they vacationed. It was sweet memory time for me as I told them about my mother’s large patch in the sandy soil of one of the places my family lived.  My brother was often found stuffing his mouth full of every color of berry. He was too young to wait for their ripening.  


Thus visual image of his little five year old blonde sitting in the patch was a great object lesson on self-control.  Strawberry cheesecake, shortcake, or ham is his favorite to this day. 

Changes in life happen suddenly sometimes. Like a recent fall by our neighbor lady that landed her in the hospital for hip surgery recovery.  We worry and wonder about these ones whether they will stay in their homes for much longer.  This kind of change is never easy. 

Change that happens over the years occurs like erosion to the landscape. For some people this erosion effects the heart as well as the body. My prayer has always been that as this tent of my body fades away, my heart will be renewed day by day. 

So for old times sake, I decided to listen to some Michael Card while I worked in Lennea’s denim quilt.   Micheal Card was introduced to us when Yolanda was born as a gift from the pastors wife at her baby shower. I used it for their nap time all during those toddler years. We were blessed to see him in person once while the girls were little. It may have been this first viewing of a cello for Lennea that helped her chose the instrument. 

History is meant to be learned from.  Perhaps thus is the wisdom that silver hair affords. The memories of yesteryear , the traditions of forefathers, the nostalgia of the elders all bring about stories and memories that the young ones enjoy hearing. 

While visiting the cemetery with our favorite snow capped people on Memorial Day, we were blessed by tales from my husband Gavin’s dad.  So many people with stories to tell never get the chance to share.  


Wnjen the strawberries are ripe for the pickin’, be sure that you take some time to tell a few history lessons to the loved ones in your life. Before you know it the season S will change. 

Though I can’t eat the beautiful berries in my greenhouse, I am glad to invite others to eat them. And especially glad to hear their stories as we check out the goodies to eat in the greenhouse. 

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