A Night at the Strawberry Patch

Summer break always starts with a bang in June, as we're carting kids to baseball practice and VBS and the library for summer reading about as soon as we get those half sharpened pencils cleaned out of the school bags.  But a surefire sign of summer's arrival for me is when Heartland Farms announces that the strawberries are ready.  I was thankful for the cool weather this year, which allowed us to ease into our summer break with a slower pace and one extra week before we made our yearly trip to the strawberry patch.

It was an overcast and cloudy night, but a beautiful one at that, and we were thankful that Beau was able to join us this year.  He grew up picking strawberries in his own backyard and always surprises me with his fervor for the task all these years later.  The berries were thick and extra sweet this year, and before we knew it, we had filled two big boxes.  

The kids were quiet helpers, and snackers, for most of the night, contentedly assisting instead of begging for the jumping pillow like last year.  They're growing up, indeed, but their red-stained fingers and chins assured me they've still got some good years of childhood still in them, too.

We've been coming out to Heartland Farms to pick berries since Cruz was just a baby.  That afternoon feels like yesterday.  He had just barely learned to sit and I had to put him a few few away on the outskirts of the strawberry plants so he wouldn't grab the plants and shove them in his mouth.  There he sat in his little white onesie, his tan chubby fists gripping handfuls of berries as if his life depended on it, strawberry juice running down his arms and legs.  He was a sticky mess and I think I threw that onesie away as soon as I walked through the door.  His bleach blonde wispy hair and chubby cheeks, the way I carried him around on my left hip, those not-so-little rubber bands around his wrists and ankles...that first summer of being a mama and how new and sweet it all felt.  

  
And just like that, eight years later.  Not one, but two kids, and a role that isn't so new anymore, but I'm certain is just as sweet.  If my math is correct, I'm almost halfway done with these years at home with that little boy who started it all.  And while it makes me a little sad to think about just how fast those first years went from our first trip to the strawberry patch, it really only motivates me more to go to bed thankful, and get up each day ready to soak the life out of these precious, precious years.  

Fifteen pounds of strawberries later, we loaded up our haul and let the kids jump on the big pillow, say hello to the goats, and get slightly terrified at the haunted house cutouts sprinkled throughout the property.  Eight years in, it only adds to the charm of this place. :)

Looked like they were jumping on a cloud!

We had planned to grab pizza somewhere afterwards, but the night was just too nice and I felt like being home.  It wasn't hard to convince Beau when we all told him a Big Green Egg cheeseburger sounded even better than OP pizza, especially served with a side of french fries and strawberry milkshakes.  These late night dinners around our table, usually followed with neighbor kids on our trampoline or cul de sac hangs as the kids bike laps around the parents, are just what summer should be.  Except now the kids expect strawberry milkshakes every day!