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.


I thoroughly savored each and every crimson morsel, saving only enough for Kyra's breakfast (good thing she woke up soon after I returned to the house)... and I gave thanks that my strawberries are such a hardy and loyal friends.

Indeed, my strawberry plants are going above and beyond their expected lifespan.  To properly care for a strawberry bed, you need to plow under old plants every three years or so, and plant cover crops (such as alfalfa, soybeans, rye grass, or other nitrogen-producing plants) over the plot for at least a year before planting new strawberries.

But nobody told my strawberries that.  They've been producing beautiful, bright berries year after year since my Celia, who just graduated (magna cum laude) from Iowa State University, was in the sixth grade at Gilbert Community Schools.

I count my resilient strawberries (nutritionally high in vitamin C, folic acid, and fiber) as one of my few heirloom friends.  Since the diagnosis of Kyra's profound disabilities, I have discovered the truth about contemporary friendship: It's only available when convenient, or when I can reciprocate in the near future, or when social media kudos will be applied, or when monetary gain is involved. In contrast, heirloom friendship survives the worst storms, comes from the most unlikely sources, shows up without apology, and doesn't comment on your bad hair days.

I hope that your friends as true and sweet as my heirloom strawberries, and that you never take heirloom friendship for granted.

Peace.