It’s strawberry season here in southwestern Michigan, and the local “U-Pick” strawberry field near our house opened for business yesterday morning. Earl has already gone over and picked some fresh berries for us. I have no idea how many he sampled as he filled his container.
I had some today and marveled that these berries actually tasted as I remember strawberries tasting when I was a child. Back then, everything tasted fresher, riper, sweeter. And I don’t think it was just because I was young. Rather, produce wasn’t shipped from far away to the local market; it wasn’t sprayed with insecticides; it wasn’t picked green and expected to ripen on the way to the store. It was more locally harvested.
And that’s how produce is here during the summer. We are blessed to live in a fruit and vegetable belt where farm stands sprout like weeds, and the farmer’s market is a going concern twice a week in town.
It’s not just strawberries. Asparagus, that harbinger of spring, is picked that morning and sold that afternoon. After strawberries, there will be tomatoes and squash and corn. In fact, we’re so picky we won’t purchase the corn unless the farmer attests it was just picked that morning.
As for peaches, I hadn’t eaten one in years that was worth its price until I came to southwest Michigan. Now I gorge myself during peach season and ignore the grocery store’s offerings until next year. That’s how spoiled we’re becoming.
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