Strawberries

   I had a big garden and a wonderful strawberry patch.  I picked the berries the day Tom was born.  They needed to be picked again the third day, when I left the hospital.  I took Tom out to the edge of the patch and wrapped him in a blanket.  I didn’t realize how sensitive the skin of a new born baby was.  When I got back to the house, one side of Tom’s face was a bright pink.  I had left one side exposed to the sun.     Ten years previous, Rachel had sent away for some special strawberry plants. I got starts from her and still had some 20 years later.  I had three long rows south east of my Archer home and planted 3 long rows, in Burton and all the Jensen family enjoyed them.       After I moved, Rex’s grandson said the berries were fabulous and wanted to know if I wanted to pick them the first year after I moved away.  I planted a few by my mother’s house in Lyman, when I lived there.  I wanted to have a strawberry patch, when I got a permanent home again.  

The fall after Tom was born, I stayed at Rachel’s and helped cook for the men.  This was the first year I hadn’t picked spuds.  I realized how much I always enjoyed the freedom of working as hard as I could from morning to night.  That is a pleasure, when you only do it for two weeks out of a year