Earlier in the week, we met up with friends for some strawberry picking. It's our third year in a row at the same field. It's become a little tradition of sorts. We pick / they nibble until our basket is satisfactorily full and their lips and t-shirts are stained by rings of red juices. We celebrate our pickings with a picnic lunch under a shady oak tree, usually followed by running shenanigans in the grass. All in all, it's a wonderful day.
The first year, my son was in the carrier, while I awkwardly attempted to kneel and pick berries, tipping him forward along with me. My daughter was actually decently helpful this year, though she too had a feast in the fields.
A few days later, with our cleaned berries, my daughter helped me slice off the stems with her learning knife and I attempted strawberry pie. Truth: it's a bit gelatinous despite having chilled in the fridge for a good four hours, but the flavor is on point. While it retains it's lovely pie shape for pictures, it might hearken to more of a strawberry syrup on crust upon indulging. I'll call that a win.
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