In her Arkansas garden, my grandmother never was without several rows of strawberries. In the summer, Sunday dinner usually was topped off with strawberries and cream (her poor-man's version was cold Pet milk and sugar whipped together). I still can taste those plump, ripe berries, best when still warm from the sun.My little pot of strawberries is coming along nicely. I took this shot yesterday of the first ripe berry. I've been looking at it each day, waiting until it's perfectly ripe to pick. This morning, I went outside. salivating at the thought of that perfect berry - only to discover that a #%^@ 'possum or raccoon beat me to it! I'm thinking it probably was the 'possum I saw having a good time in the back yard and on the back porch yesterday. I am not happy. I'm not sure where I can put it that a critter can't get to, since I've seen them scale metal table legs to reach the tabletop.
Maybe a net is in order.
No comments:
Post a Comment