Every year after Father’s Day, my mother used to take us all out of the house, after a long winter hibernating at home and school, to go strawberry picking. It was an annual outing that I loved! To be out in the sun, in the field, eating fresh fruits, and listening to wild birds and bugs chirping. Massachusetts’ farms are the type that are deep in the towns, hard to find places, surrounded by thick forests. So I imagined it would be much like that when my roommate suggested going strawberry picking in Long Island. It’s not as romantic as when I was a child but it’s the company that makes it memorable.
There was an outcast for some looming thunderstorm but the day was so beautiful! A friend picked us up and off we went to Long Island. Only an hour drive but it felt so short when you’re catching up that when we arrived at the farm, I was a bit reluctant to believe it was the right place. It was off the side of a road behind a house that looked like a place to brew meth or something.
Glover’s Farmhouse in Long Island is a small family owned farm. The field was freshly plowed so the landscape was bare, trees lined the edge of the estate but it did not looked like what I imagined a farm to be. Has it been that long since I’ve gone strawberry picking that farmland has changed that much?
The farm is small, goats caged in and chicken clucked amok between tractors and trailers. Wild flowers sprouted sporadically throughout the land. A makeshift playground for children stood out randomly, a complete oddity in its surrounding.
We got to the stand and each of us bought a handmade basket and was on our way to being the awesome farmer that human being was meant to be!
The sun beat on us through fluffy clouds as we scavenge the bushes for fresh strawberries. The night before, it had rained pushing many of the strawberries down to the ground, eaten by bugs and worms. Those that persevered the rain were huddled underneath strong leaves and were ripe for the picking. It was near the end of strawberry picking so we were at the last couple of rows left of strawberry. The picking was meager but the ones we had were absolutely delicious with the right amount of sweetness.
Crouching and bending over, we felt like little ants working away. I knew some of us were quite the city girl, complaining about her manicure while the other had juices all over her hand and shirt. It was quite funny to watch.
What I love about picking, whether it’s apples or strawberries, in general is that it’s a very solitude activity. I’m very concentrated on finding the best to munch on without a thought of work, worry, or a life to get back to. In a way, it’s a form of meditation through manual labor while admiring nature’s bounty.
After an exhausting hour or so of strawberry picking, we had our full with baskets brimming with ripe redness. It was time to enjoy them!
Before heading back to the city, we stopped at a random town suggested by Foursquare to have some brunch. Crazy Crepes is one of those small shop on the side of a big road in a plaza of sorts. It’s neither quaint nor unique but it offered a good variety of savory and sweet crepe.
I ordered a berry filled crepe, stuffed with strawberry and blueberries and drizzled with raspberry sauce. My roommate ordered a belgian waffle that was the same batter as the crepe while our friend chose to be the healthy one and ordered a wrap. Sometimes, I splurge when I eat out and go for the most wasteful of calories.
We ended the day, exhausted and wiped out. I fell asleep on the way back but was glad to have that rest after a very long stressful week.