When sweet spring starts to taste like summer we must have arrived at a seasonal tipping point. And indeed we have, for today is at once the height of strawberry season and the summer solstice!
You may recollect me pining (a bit pitifully) for this merry moment a mere month ago.
It’s tempting to race nature. Anticipation kidnaps expectations, and suddenly the present is but a springboard to the future.
This year we were off to a good start. The precocious plants were well leafed and starting to send out tendrils. Blooms began to scatter the patch. I could almost taste the first fruit.
But then warmies were eclipsed by chillies. Rain and hail and cold wind. Day after day.
I’m still anticipating strawberry season, but I’m also trying to temper my enthusiasm. Nights in the low 40s. A high today of 51°. Cold, clammy conditions that don’t inspire fantasies of strawberry shortcake. (Source: Anticipating Strawberry Season)
With 20/20 hindsight I’d say that “trying to temper my enthusiasm” might not be the ideal remedy when anticipating a slow-to-come strawberry season. Or anything else for that matter?
Enthusiasm is not the culprit. Runaway predictions and expectations may be.
[Radishes, the] red and white ambassadors of springtime never fail to remind us that gardening — like life itself — rarely follows our predictions and tidy expectations… Through years of anticipation and years of abundance, soggy delays and sun-soaked harvests, each season carries its own unique rhythm and reward.
This may well be the most meaningful and enduring gift of radish season. Beyond eye-catching beauty and peppery crunch, these early root vegetables remind us to embrace the conditions we’re given, not the conditions we planned… (Source: Radish Season)
So I’ll hold dear my enthusiasm. After all, it’s pretty much hardwired into my psyche. But I’ll remind myself to stay present in the present. The future may be anticipated and even planned. But predictions and expectations need be defined with pastel imperfection, blurry around the edges, gradients in lieu of too many hard edges. For strawberry season — and indeed every season — offers its own unique rhythm and reward no matter how tempting is might be to plot and plan and schedule and delineate and define. I will continue to practice (and learn from) the art of flux.
Strawberries and Cream
Last night Susan broiled salmon and sautéed mixed greens. Delicious. But this healthy and revitalizing supper was only the warm up act. The star power came in the form of bountiful strawberries with cream. Dairy whipped cream for Susan and coconut whipped cream for me. So sweet the strawberries, we stopped talking. Mesmerized, we focused on our taste buds. So red and juicy. So sweet. The decadent ambrosia of strawberry season. We ended up having seconds, and finally thirds, finishing the entire bowl that she had prepared. Taste transcendence!
What do you think?