On my way home from the dump, I stopped at the farm, here they pick the strawberries for you, unlike the place down the road where you pick them yourself.
I've done that, with my sister in law, my brother ( although he spent the whole time my sister in law and I picked the berries, on his blackberry talking my other brother out of a bad real estate deal.)
I've also picked with my two nieces, maybe they were too young, first, they both complained the entire time we picked, and after we spent hours in the noon sun picking, stooping down and filling our little baskets, my youngest niece accidentally emptied her whole basket onto the ground !
I bought a quart size basket - strawberries are my father's favorite ! I won't say anything else. or else there will be tears spilled all over the blog.
I also bought some local (not organic, but from a nearby farm) heavy cream.
Strawberries and cream.
I was looking forward to that and drove up my lumpy driveway as Eric Clapton started his song about his son who tragically died after falling from an open window. I've heard that song many times before, this time I got it,"would you know my name if I saw you in heaven, would it be the same if I saw you in heaven..."
The tears fell. I don't believe in heaven, yet I knew exactly what he meant. I knew. I have the same questions. Sometimes I want to go to "heaven." And I wonder would you be there waiting for me?
No comments:
Post a Comment