It seems in the lands around Watsonville, there are strawberries fields
(going on) forever. I ended up stopping at one that had reasonably visible
perimeters, and thought I'd do a little berry pickin'. Since Tubby seems
to have this unexplained disdain for fruits and vegetables, I left him
at home. (I find I have more fun that way, too; go figure.)
The field I we were to pick from wasn't super-duper huge, but at
10 inches tall, it was just fine for me.
The objective, I was told, is to choose those berries that are reddest,
even if not the biggest.
Not tulips, but some tip-toeing (or tip-web-toeing) was required
to not make berries go, "squisssshh!"
Yes, I know that is clearly a bite missing, and no, I didn't do
it. Honestly, without washing it first?
You buy the strawberries by the pound. I helped tare
the scale, and it's right on: it said I'm 10 ounces.
What the devil? After contacting my Medical
Services, it seems I am allergic to strawberries. Dang!