Faith, Folklore, and Friends

Image from Wikipedia I can't remember the first time I heard my Daddy tell the story.  A friend of his, who apparently didn't get out much, hitched a ride to town one Saturday.  Red clover was in bloom all along the roadside.  The friend, astounded, looked out and said, "Just look at all those strawberries!" My Daddy thought it was hilarious, and told the story every time we were riding and saw some red clover outside the car window. We, being terribly smart and contemporary, would roll our eyes at each other, smirking at that lame story we were hearing for the hundredth time. Image from Wikipedia Isn't it crazy, and isn't it sad, that by the time we are mature enough to realize the value in some stories, the storyteller is no longer with us?  This story was a part of who my Daddy was, and a part of who we all were, part of the glue that bound us together as a family. We are lonesome animals.  We spend all our life trying to be less lonesome. ...

About thirty-five years ago, I learned how to make the wonderful strawberry pie that you can get at Shoney's Restaurant. I was amazed that I could make something that tasted so good. It has become a harbinger of spring in our house.  When the fresh Florida strawberries make it to the stores here, we have some strawberry pie. I'm still making it after all these years.  It is still just as tasty as it always has been.

The middle of May come never come soon enough for us.  First, and most important, it marked the end of the school year, and the beginning of freedom.  It also meant the strawberries were ripe. There was  a strawberry farm just a few miles from where we lived, with acres and acres of strawberries.  The owners, having about a two-week window to harvest all the beautiful strawberries, hired everyone who was willing to help pick them, including ratty-haired little younguns. We were paid five cents a quart, and on a good day, we could make two dollars. We were free and needed cash, so we were excited to go and start picking. The excitement lasted until after lunch time.  Having coins in our pocket, we went to a nearby country store for lunch.  We would get RC Colas, not because they were better but because they were bigger. We could buy a bologna sandwich (bologna was sold by the slice; you could get a thick one if you were willing to pay) and som...