to the strawberry farm

Friday, May 30

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This morning, we gathered our boots up and slogged out into the cool misty morning, headed to the library. Our mission was to find as many big brother books as we could. We picked a couple out and sat and read them together with our legs crossed on top of each other. We got to a part about belly buttons and umbilical cords and stopped there, needing to discuss in great length why babies have umbilical cords and no, they don't hurt, and no the baby doesn't need a band-aid, and everyone used to have one, even you. We read a part about the baby kicking and I pressed Everett real close against my belly until he could feel her move and he looked up at me laughing, "heeey!"
We gathered up a few favorites and toted them in canvas down the front steps and to the car, driving past the downtown buildings until the road started winding around farm houses and we saw the arrowed sign for strawberries. It is the end of May and right now the Shenandoah is a luscious green. This being our last summer here, I am trying to mindfully soak up every last crest and valley of these farmed hills. We met some friends at the farm, picked up our buckets and meandered our way out to the plot. Everett's best friend is a year older than him and they played chase and follow the leader, leaving Everett in fits of giggles. He wandered off on his own, picking strawberries and putting them in his bucket. He decided to taste-test a few green ones, which were then promptly and forcefully chucked into the next row over. After that he aimed for the red ones, staining his face and hands and shirt with the color of summer.
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Sharing his strawberries with someone who was sad. My mom pom-poms were a'wavin.
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Everett's bucket and mine. He ate as he went.
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And while we were checking out, Everett chased this dog around, holding out his strawberry stained hands saying, "here doggy, taste this yummy juice" with very minimal success. A for effort.
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