Strawberries

I love strawberries. There's really nothing else that signifies the arrival of summer quite as much as a basketful of sweet strawberries, still warm from the sun. As a little girl, my mom and I would pick strawberries together. I can't say that I was much help in the grand scheme of things (most of what I picked ended up in my mouth rather than in the basket), but we still had fun. I adore strawberry shortcake (and have it for breakfast any chance I get). While I was in Napa, I was trying to get a lot accomplished, while still enjoying the sunshine. At one point, I was half lost and quite frustrated, and stumbled across a small farm stand at the corner of White Cottage road. I pulled up to the stand, which was oddly crowded for being so remote, and surveyed the display. There was much to choose from- nectarines, apricots, green beans... but I was immediately drawn to the strawberries. I bought two baskets, one for after lunch and one to take back to my hotel room for later in the day. Once I got back in the car however, I was overwhelmed by the sweet smell. I gave in, and ate one. It was perfect- juicy, warm, and quintessential summer. I ate another. And another. I was determined not to greedily eat the whole basket, or stain my white shirt. I was unsuccessful on both accounts. I devoured the basket of berries, dripping the red juicy all over my shirt and staining my hands. I felt like I was five years old again, satiated and sticky after a day in the strawberry fields.
-Josie