The strawberry plants in Ruth and Mel's garden grow sturdy and close together. This is their second year, and suckers have grown up into the wide bed. I decided to pick the side closest to the fence because Ruth and I had casually picked the other side yesterday during a tour of the gardens, quantity limited then by the size of our hands. Mel had picked some earlier in the day, but I felt garden-deprived since mine was 3,000 miles away, and the thought of bending under the warm sun in search of red treasure pulled me outside. The red hearts shone when I pushed back the leaves. Overripe berries with mold growing on their ground side were snapped from the stems and tossed in a high arc into the raspberry bushes. Pale berry children were left cradled under sheltering leaves, but vibrant ripe gems were plucked and placed into the waiting container. I filled it up without picking on the other side of the bed, and went back up to the house. During a discussion with Mel we discovered that we had both picked the same side, so the haul tomorrow should be as big as today's. In the early afternoon we went to the Saturday market in Eugene, and I bought fingerling potatoes to go with the salmon and strawberries for supper. Tomorrow Ruth and I drive two hours to the Oregon coast, and I will be at the westernmost point on my trip. Perhaps that means the the drive back to their house tomorrow is the first leg on my slow return home.
Here is the view from their house:
In the garden:
