There is no better metaphor for summer than a sun-warmed strawberry fresh off the vine.
Maybe you pop that first one of the season into your mouth while you’re still in the field. Its sweet burst of flavor reminds you of last summer — the lazy floats, campfires, music festivals, yoga in the park, crisp dives into the swimming pool, the aptly named s’mores.
You savor that first one and work hard to collect as many berries as you can in the flat you optimistically chose because you forgot how long it took you to fill it last year.
You have some helpers out there — some of them work as quality control managers.
“Ooooo This is a good one!” They announce, red juice running down their chin.
“Look! This one looks like a heart!”
Other dig in, staining their shirt with loads they tote in them from one end of the row to the flat.
You all hustle because you know how short strawberry season can be — just like summer.
Then, having secured your bounty, you haul it home and, in the next few days, you eat as many as your bellies will hold.
That mound of fresh-picked strawberries seems like it will last forever — just like summer days.
But, they don’t and that ephemerality makes each especially sweet.
I hope you get to eat a fresh picked strawberry this week, and that your summer days are equally sweet.
