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sarah e webb's avatar

summer never officially began until the day after the last day of school, when my mother woke me at dawn to pick strawberries in the coolness of the morning light.

we would pick for hours, until our flats were filled to the rim, our sticky fingers stained red.

then home to beat eggs and whip cream and make a strawberry meringues ~ layer upon layer of sweetness.

🍓🍰🍓🍰🍓🍰🍓

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Dina Varellas's avatar

I love this memory so much!!! Thank you for sharing. Did you live on a farm or would you go to one to pick strawberries? Do you still make strawberry meringues?

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sarah e webb's avatar

i grew up in the suburbs of Rochester, but u pick farms were plentiful and much more farm-like 50+ years ago (ok, writing 50+ years ago just gave me a jolt of my numerical age 🤣).

it’s been awhile since i’ve been home to have seasonal strawberries, the only kind i will eat, because i’m now in maine in june…however, i do know where to find a wee wild 🍓 patch on monhegan, but not enough to make merengues.

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Dina Varellas's avatar

Very cool - thank you. I still will say like 20 years ago, but it’s more like 30 since I was a teenager! I get it 😹

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