I used to think that strawberries were a sour type of fruit. I grew up in a tropical country. I rarely ate sweet strawberries when I was little. Even imported ones weren’t very delicious.
Two years back, at a friend’s house, I tried her homegrown strawberries. The first bite nearly killed me. It was so sweet and so juicy that I went into strawberry hyper mode. I threw them in my mouth while my hands harvested more. I was like a lawn mower with cut grass spewing out at the back, which in this case, were strawberry stems and leaves spewing out of my mouth. It wasn’t pretty.
A month ago, this same friend dug out two strawberry plants from her garden, potted them and gave them to me. I was ecstatic! I have dreamed of the glorious strawberries to enjoy over and over again.
But to date, instead of the continuous streams of strawberries I had in mind, I only got a measly 3. THREE!
The infamous three strawberries are those in the picture, the reddest being the very first one.
What about the two flowers looking beautifully, waiting for their turn to become gorgeous red fruit you might ask. Well, they shriveled up and died.
Look at it. It’s not even fully red and it’s superbly sweet. At least gardening is cheaper than therapy… and I get strawberries.
And now, I wait for more. Oh strawberry God. Where art thou?