I was all set to make dog biscuits this morning when suddenly my baking agenda changed. After a weekend away and several days of glorious rain (thank you free sprinkler system in the sky!) , I finally remembered to go pick the latest batch of strawberries. When I brought my pail inside, I actually pulled out the food scale – 8 oz of strawberries seems like plenty of motivation to start baking the shortcakes to go with my ripe fruit!
When I moved here three years ago, I transplanted two strawberry plants from a falling apart plastic window box to the new flower bed around the deck. There wasn’t much else there at the time so when the strawberries began throwing out their amber stems like a rappel line taking them further and higher into uncharted territory, I didn’t really mind.
It drives my orderly husband crazy that the strawberries have since found shelter around the base of nearly every plant sharing that bed. He doesn’t want the fruit fraternizing with the irises or sneaking below the mulch to suddenly arrive in the gravel-covered space beneath the deck.
I’m of the opinion that I like my weeds to work for me. If the strawberries want to take over the whole yard, I’m ready to park my mower and wait for them to bloom – although I think I’d rip every strawberry up by the roots if it meant more room for a blueberry bush infestation.