I read my friend Renny's blog yesterday and realized that since strawberries were in season in Ohio, the same must hold true for Indiana. And that there MUST be some fresh strawberries somewhere in my general vicinity. So I googled. And there it was, Hilltop Farms (which, in the land of flatness, was really a misnomer). I called. The sweetest recorded message I have ever heard tickled my ears -- I recommend you call this number, just for a smile. I couldn't resist her promise of fresh, sweet berries, so off I went. I picked them myself! I guess being in the middle of farm country does have its benefits.
I was staring at one of the pictures I took and thinking about how cool strawberries are. Completely unpretentious, they wear their seeds on their sleeves, for everyone to see. Their intentions are so clear, no games of hiding a big hard pit in the middle of fleshy sweetness, a nasty surprise for some unsuspecting person to bite into when they are in the middle of enjoying a peach or apricot. No small, weirdly woody yet supposedly edible hidden seeds like in the middle of grapes or apples. No, strawberries put it all out there, saying enjoy me, my seeds are small and add to my pleasing texture. Eat me, put me on strawberry shortcake, blend me up in a shake. All I ask is that you enjoy me, and let nature do the rest. Peck at me, birds, and poop out my seeds as you fly, so that I may go forth and multiply. Or simply let me hang here on the stem, I will eventually droop to the ground and be reborn as a new strawberry plant.
I digress. Bottom line -- go get you some farm-fresh strawberries and pronto, while they last!
And no, I didn't get around to checking the size on my Honeymoon Cami yet. I'm scared to.