Strawberry Shortcake

If I lived in an alternate, parallel, sideways, universe. A universe without me one day learning that I was in fact DEAD and living in this made-up alternate, parallel, sideways universe, I would be farmer. In Tuscany. In an old farmhouse. Chickens would be laying eggs. I would grow asparagus. I would wear a floppy hat and bright Wellies and look cool and Jcrew like wearing these items while picking tomatoes. And we would feast Italian style and despite the constant eating I would remain skinny.

But alas, there's no parallel universe pour moi. So to get my occasional home grown fix, I drag my kid out strawberry picking. She loved it. For awhile. Then she claimed that strawberry picking was making her a sweaty mess so we really should get going.

It boggles my mind that I live in a state stretches of nothingness but land that you could throw some fruits and veggies on and there are but a few "pick your own" and farmers markets. I swear, if you build it, WE WILL COME. That teeny tiny strawberry patch was full of people. I did hear of a blueberry patch in Poca that should be ready for picking in July.

We'll be there.

With our basket.