Monday, July 26, 2010

Sweet Sweet Summer

There are certain things that just Define summer. One of which is Strawberries. Another of which is Greenbluff. The gorgeous patch of farmland North and East of Spokane. It's a place of pumpkins and corn mazes and cherries and well, not so many strawberries this year apparently. But, we found some. So we donned our red apparel and hit the road in search of Siemer's Strawberry Field.
We each made a "Summer List" this year. A list of fun things we hoped to do this summer. They range from Hitting the farmer's Market to library storytime to ToyStory 3, to Silverwood. A common denominator was Picking Strawberries at Greenbluff.
I learned last year from trial and a big fat ERROR that the strawberries come earlier than one might think. Typically they're done by the 4th of July. Our spring here in the Northwest was crummy- no, really Crummy. Cold. Dark. Extra frosts. More cold. Too MUCH rain. So when I called the farmer at "Strawberry Hill Farms" on Greenbluff he said his had pretty much turned to mush and they weren't doing U-pick this year. WHAT? I mean it was on ALL our lists. Non-negotiable.
I kept calling. Not only are the farms to pick few (okay 2) and far between, but they give you specific times- like 7:00 am to 3:00 pm. On July 18, 2010. Jeez. Okay okay- we'll be there!
Another lesson: Get there early. We rolled up around 0900 when the Serious Pickers were packing and paying for their red bounty and it was already H-O-T.
There were still enough to go around. And although they didn't look like much this year. It's hard to beat a fresh from the plant soooo juicy delectable berry.
Or 7 pounds of berries for that matter.
Such a treat. Awesome Sweet Summer Goodness. Now, check that off the list!

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Did you ever come to a place and instantly recognize it as your ‘Ultima Thule,’ the one spot in all God’s world where you belonged- where your roots could go deep into the soil which would forever nourish you, where inspiration and spiritual blessing welled up from the earth to the top of the tallest Tamarack, spread to the encasing bowl of sky, return on every waterway to feed you everlastingly? Such a spot, so it seemed to me, was Priest Lake. ~ Nell Shipman, 1924