The 50 Mile Diet

I Left Some for You

It was a warm morning. Clouds were moving through and I realized that this was a day for strawberry picking. I called the Klingelhutz farm. The automated voice message was inviting. I put on some long pants and a sleeveless shirt, grabbed my various containers, and flew to Waconia. After about 10 miles, I’m on dirt road and the dust blows up behind the car. I have to slow my pace I’m so excited. I love to pick.

I’m hardly the first one there. Mostly women are bent over the strawberry plants. Colleen Klingelhutz gives me my rows. Mine alone. I pick. I pick. And I pick. I pick mostly for jam. I focus on the plants. There are so many berries, it’s incredible. I look for the best berries. There are so many. I lay down on the straw so I can see under the leaves. The berries hide underneath. An overnight rain makes the leaves wet and my shirt is wet. My pants are muddy. I’m so close to the plants I see the spiders dashing away from my probing hands. I don’t much like spiders, but the strawberries take precedence over my dislike of them.

The sun comes out and heats up my arms, my back, and I wish I had a hat. I picked 19 pounds. The woman in front of me picked 42 pounds. Wow.

Once home, my son says, “That’s a lot of strawberries.” I say, “I’ll make one batch of jam.” He says, “Make two, I like strawberry jam.” Apparently, the jars of rhubarb jam haven’t appealed to him too much. So I make 18 jars of jam, half strawberry, and half strawberry vanilla. (It’s an experiment and I think it’s a good one.) I freeze 8 quarts of berries. I still have a pail full of eating berries and more on the counter, awaiting strawberry muffins.

I think I’m done with strawberries for the season.

Raspberries are on my horizon……..

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