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no eating in the field


We smile sweetly when they arrive. They climb out of their cars, slap on hats, adjust sunglasses, and race towards us. Usually it’s a family with a few small children, or a couple, only just in love, out on a playful date. We greet them brightly, hand them a plastic tray – big or little, we always ask which they prefer – and explain the rules. We are polite, and they nod okay, of course, as though it is so simple, but we are serious. No eating in the field. They traipse off into the green, and we watch as they stoop like ducks, heads down, bums up. Sometimes we chuckle at the ones in wayward skirts or too-loose pants, but we are careful to remain vigilant. We note turning backs and crooked arms as forbidden fruit moves from plant to hand to mouth. The smaller children giggle at their crime. The couples share strawberry-lipped kisses. But we do not signal an alarm. We do not brandish hoes and dash out to strike the smitten thieves, because it happens too quickly – they are gone – and there is nothing for us to do but to shake our heads. Only at the end of the day, when the fields are all clear, can we head out to the patch to scour the ground. And when we find them – they are always the most ripe, sweating potent red juice – we do not eat them. At least not in the field.

Find out more about this Hello Sunday adventure.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. 23/08/2010 2:46 pm

    Lovely! We had such a great time at PYO on the way to the Sunshine Coast. I’ve never had juicier, more glorious strawberries in my life. Warmed by the sun. And I have to admit that I might have nicked one. It was already lying on the ground 😉

  2. 25/08/2010 9:25 am

    Oh my goodness – you went strawberry picking without me!

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