Friendly Strawberry Surprise
This morning, Anya (the dog) and I were the first ones up. With a cup of coffee in my hand and Kyra's video monitor clipped to my waistband, we headed out to survey the myriad of weeds growing in my gardens. We've had a record number of soggy days, and we've been a bit preoccupied with getting ready for Kyra's spinal surgery, so the gardens haven't been cared for very well this spring. As we set off, I was prepared to embrace the philosophy that all plants are created equal, and a weed is only a plant with non-conformist tendencies. As I rounded the corner of the garage, with the mantra, "Pigweed is my friend. Pigweed is my friend" ringing through my head, I saw the bright red of ripe strawberries dotting my front garden. Elated, I rushed back into the house as quietly as I could to get a bowl. Then, with Anya and the four cats that survived the winter and the coyotes and the mink and the owls, we gathered my breakfast.