Worth Sharing This Week: Strawberry Season

This past weekend would have been the annual Strawberry Festival.  It's been ongoing for about as long as we've been here in this county and it's the one thing we usually attend.  It's pure small town festival stuff.   A couple of city blocks of bouncy houses, pony rides, live music, craft booths, the aroma of BBQ and cotton candy, popcorn and Fried Chicken in the air, along with a load of screeching children.  People crowd in from out of town.  There are lawnmower races, a teddy bear parade, classic car show, picnics in the park, and my favorite thing of all, the annual Women's Club book sale.

Not this year.  Not the first time it's been cancelled either as weather has shut it down a few times but you know it wasn't weather this year it was Covid 19.  We'll mark that one in the history of our little annual festival.



But it's made me think all week long of strawberries and my habit of hoarding them in season though I assure you I love them.

First strawberry memory:   Grandmother C had a lot in town with an area that was raised above the rest of the yard. I think honestly it was due to the hillside on which she lived but one year the raised area was planted with strawberries and I remember the aroma of sun on strawberry plants quite clearly, as well as the sweet tiny red berries which she'd pick and I'd eat.  I was probably 2 or maybe 3 at the time, but I clearly remember the warmth of the sun, the smell of the plants and the taste of that tiny red berry. 

Granny planted strawberries one year in the yard where she'd once watered cows.  The dirt there was rich and black the berries grew and spread and spread.  Tiny, sweet, and delicious.

But strawberries were not typical fare for our households.  Strawberries were rare things, grown for a season and then they were gone.  Otherwise strawberries came in a can on the grocery shelf, or in a carton from the freezer shelf.  The berries were mushy and sickly sweet in their syrupy liquid but it was what we knew as strawberries so we ate them.

Another memory is of Mrs. Waters' Strawberry Cake which she made routinely and brought to church dinners (held once a month at my childhood church).   I NEVER bypassed that cake without getting a lovely slice of the pinkly perfect stuff.  I made one long ago and have made up my mind I must make another one but now I cannot find the recipe.   Hers had a 10 ounce carton of strawberries as well as a package of strawberry gelatin.   I've found a similar recipe on the Southern Living site this week that includes FRESH berries and just two tablespoons of jello.   Mrs. Waters' cake also called for strawberries and strawberry gelatin in the frosting, too.  Southern Living's recipe does not.  I think I can fudge it though and make a similar sort of cake to Mrs. Waters.

Much later, when I was a married woman with a house full of children and a small budget, and Strawberries came into season and sold cheaply in the grocery store, I would buy  2 big quart sized boxes and make rich shortcakes, split and fill with berries and freshly whipped cream and we would have a Strawberry Shortcake Supper.   That's all I put on the table that night, just Strawberry Shortcake.    My kids loved it, as it marked spring time for them.   Two years ago Sam told Josh I'd done such a thing once upon a time.  Last year, Josh told his dad to call me.  "Tell her, Dad, that's time to have a strawberry party."  So I made a big shortcake and had he and Isaac down for a party were we ate cake for supper.  I plan to do that again this year.  I'm buying berries and whipping cream tomorrow.  Some things just need to continue to be shared.