Sunlight made the dew on the maple leaves glisten when I parked in the shade. The parking lot at the organic pick-your-own farm was filled with fossil fuel gorging SUVs. The strawberries and raspberries were a big draw for parents from the city.
The owner met us at the back door of the barn turned fruit and vegetable stand. She handed us each a cardboard box. "Take as many cartons as you want to fill."
The cardboard box had a famous soup label on it and the cartons were made of pressed paperboard. So far, so good.
She pointed. "you can pick in the farthest three rows for raspberries and we're picking in the strawberry field to the right."
We thanked her and started to walk to the field.
"Wait."
We turned around.
"If you'd like, hop on the haywagon and we'll take you to the field."
The hayrides seemed popular with the kids; all I could think was itchy hay sticking in my hair and to my clothes. Too many memories from childhood. Fortunately my date was up for a walk too and I could avoid the tractor fumes.
While we picked to fill the cartons, we sampled a few berries direct from the vines. Nothing like going right to the source and pesticide free too. Yum! We picked enough berries for me to freeze several containers for winter.
Back at the farm stand, the cashier rang up our purchases. This date cost as much as a vegetarian dinner for two and a movie. We gained scratches from the thorns in the raspberry bushes. I sunburned my nose because the brim of my hat wasn't wide enough. We witnessed city children learning where food comes from and the work involved. Together we learned we share similar values. I have a winter's worth of fresh frozen organic strawberries - can't put a dollar amount on that kind of value. Oh wait, they could, $48.34.
THE END
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