Strawberries

Strawberries. 

Oh the wondrous summertime fruits 

right out of the field make 

my mouth water, 

my heart content, 

and my chickens happy. 

Uhh, what kind of statement is that?

My mouth waters at the anticipation. 

And when my husband walks through the door over and over again toting in all those flats of local-grown strawberries, my mouth indeed waters. Oh, lovely plump morsels of red summer sweetness, come right over here and meet my mouth. 

Yum.

My heart is content. 

To process the berries means I fill a sink with cold water, dump in a 1/2-flat (6 pints), swish berries, 

pluck off the greenery, fill one bowl with berries and one bowl with tops, then fill two large freezer bags single-layer style with sweet red fruits, and then stack neatly in the freezer. Contentment that tomorrow night the same process will be repeated. My freezer will be set for the dreariness of winter so that 

when summer tugs at the soul all I have to do is take a red frosted bag of summer. 

My chickens are happy. 

Remember all those stems I plucked off? My feathered roosting friends will be in chicken delirium this morning when I take the large container of strawberry tops out and scatter them about their pecking penthouse. The ladies will no doubt be in some state of a fouled frenzy while they gobble the berry greens. I know their brains are only the size of a marble, but they have to take notice of their bodaciously bountiful berry brunch

--how can they not?

"the small, red fleshy fruit of a vinelike plant of the rose family" -- Oh, Mister Webster, you tried to define this wondrous summertime fruit. Words cannot impart the sweetness, the redness, the juiciness, nor the unadulterated taste of a sunshine warmed scrumptious strawberry.

Thank you Lord for this gift of summer!

Simple Raw Food

 

[I will have to post photos tomorrow as I was in a state of sticky-fingered, berry-bliss 

therefore I neglected taking photos of the fruits]