I have a gallon of strawberries in my refrigerator at the moment. And while that may not be all that unusual for many of you, it is for me.
These are special strawberries for a variety of reasons. First they are hand picked …by me. I have never picked a strawberry in my life, other than out of the grocery store off the produce aisle. I wasn’t even sure I could identify a strawberry plant if I had to. But I think I can now. The closest I have come to fresh strawberries is a roadside stand in Johnson City that proudly claimed to be from Unicoi County. There was a lot of claim to fame in those parts with regard to “home grown-ness”. Not the least of which are Grainger County tomatoes. But that is another story.
I am involved in a class at the moment called Ecological Theology. In it we are discussing the nature of ecology, what it has to do with God and further what it has to do with us. We know about global warming and its effects on our environment and the planet. The statistics are staggering. And the reason that Minnesota has tornados and it is 95 degrees in June? I don’t think we have to think too much about that one. But also within these discussions is talk about sustainable agriculture and local produce. It is not so much about the produce as it is about the cost of the produce…to grow it, to pick it, to transport it. All of which adds up.
So off I went today to pick strawberries. At an “honor system” farm outside of Gallatin. Lyndsey and I went together and in the 90+ degree heat we picked a wad of strawberries. In preparation, we needed our own Strawberry Receptacle Devices, which looked remarkably like sand buckets purchased from a local Kmart. Lyndsey has picked strawberries before and was amused at my rookie picking lack of ability I am sure. But along the way another thing happened. We talked. Now those of you who know us, know we talk a lot anyway, but today was a little different. We talked about family and her grandfather’s strawberry patch. How it was that as a child she helped pick strawberries (and other garden goods) and hated it sometimes.We talked about how it was that we KNEW where these berries were from much like those she picked as a kid. And how it is that the small Ohio town that raised her is still that small Ohio town that remains home to her. My thoughts went back to Mr. Fleming and the garden he grew on the plot of land next door to me as a kid. Which led me right back to 225 Carta Road on summer nights catching lightening bugs between the corn rows.
I am reminded again of how important time is. How important it is to DO something with our lives that matters. We often talk a good game about sustainability and the “good earth” but how often do we work in those places that are sacred earth? And how often do we share those places and those times with others we love.
So go pick some strawberries while you can. Even when it is 90+ degrees. Even when you are tired from work. Take the day off. You have to be intentional. You have to look for it. But it is worth every last drop of strawberry juice that stains your shirt in the hot summer sun.
And blueberry season is coming along soon.
