As did countless other families along the East Coast this weekend, we went strawberry picking. I'd like to be able to tell you that we enjoyed leisurely strolls through the field while the kids happily took in the fresh air & scene while stuffing their faces full of berries plucked at the peak of their perfection, and then, after we returned home, I casually threw together some jam while everybody sat around the table and remarked what a perfect day it had been.
Not quite how things played out. A sweltering heat wave was in full effect by the time we got there, and all of us had woken up on the wrong side of the bed--some of us (me) may have even been so cranky we were kind of ready to go back home almost as soon as we arrived. The berries were picked over already, there was much crying about why we couldn't just circle around endlessly on the hayride, the little one was inexplicably fussy, and did I mention the unbearable, oppressive heat? But, we stuck it out long enough for my nephew to gobble up his first few strawberries of life, and I came away with more than enough fruit for a generous batch of ice cream, and, by the next day, all Dev (who was the crankiest of all at the orchard) seemed to remember was that "hey, remember when we went to the strawberry farm and had so much fun picking BERRIES?! I love to be a farmer!". Funny how that little kid memory filter works, isn't it?