Morning made its appearance today in the same way it has been . . . foggy, wet and gloomy. I knew the strawberry patch would be soaking wet, but I was willing to brave anything (weeell, almost anything) to have fresh strawberries for our breakfast. (This first harvest of the season comes about two weeks earlier than normal.)
How can just reaching into strawberry plants (lush though they are) to pick ripe berries make you feel so totally drenched? I know I was wet up to my elbows for sure, and my garden shoes were squishy (why didn't I put on boots?), but the reward was worth it.
There are plenty more out there, but I stopped when I knew I had enough for breakfast. I'm keeping track of the poundage we harvest this year so when I got inside, onto the scale this bunch went. One pound, 6 ounces . . . and we consumed every smidgen.
Unfortunately, because of our wet weather, the slugs have been enjoying the berries, too. As I'm picking and find a berry that has been too decimated by the ugly-bugly creatures, I lob it up over the seven foot high fence into the poultry yard, and the birds come running to claim it before it even hits the ground. Maybe they aren't such dumb clucks after all.
4 hours ago