berries in september
Some time ago, I stopped trying to think about how things should be. To do this I had to abandon a preset binary black and white of how things are or aren’t supposed to be. Maybe it was the dead kids, (something that should never happen) that showed me that we never have control and should is just a word.
On another note, I’ve never grown a strawberry plant before; on the side of our house there is a patch. It started with one transplanted root from a patch in Massachusetts, a patch grown by the matriarch of the family who raised the man I love. The patch gets sunshine during the spring and early summer for most of the day, and shade during the rest of the year. The first plant was placed in the ground over two years ago, and since then the roots have expanded to create a vast network of expansive, resilient, healthy independent strawberry plants.
We planted the mother strawberry plant around the time that I made the decision to stop thinking how things shouldn’t or should be. Instead, I try to consider things how they are. Maybe I should have, but I never looked up the physiology of the strawberry plants. I don’t know how much sun or shade they should get, if I should expect berries from every plant, or if I should shelter them in the winter.
Every morning (assuming it’s warm enough to go barefoot), I race out to the strawberry patch and check for a new flower, or berry. Historically, the patch has focused on expansion over fruit production, but my enthusiasm hasn’t waned. When I find a new flower or berry, I celebrate and say thank you. When I find the exact same unchanged plants as yesterday, I celebrate and say thank you. The patch has become a rare place in my life without expectations. It is so sweet.
A couple of days ago we celebrated the life of the matriarch, our grand dame. I took some time in the patch in the sunshine which is now limited to a few warm hours in the afternoon. I asked for strength and courage in the cold season to come. Summer is over and my bare toes are greeted by Colorado frost in the morning; my barefoot days are waning. Autumn has arrived – a celestial and meteorological reminder of change. A reminder of all things impermeant and ungovernable.
This morning, the cement was cold under my barefoot feet as I moved my hands through the expansive strawberry leaves, my daily prayer. There, under the top layer of leaves, without any sunshine at all, was a bright red berry.
A little research has taught me that strawberries should grow in our patch through late June. They should peak in late July at the latest depending on the frost. They should get at least eight hours of sunshine daily. They should lay in a bed of mulch. Essentially, we shouldn’t have a bright red strawberry today. And yet. Today I am grateful for a season of life in which we enjoy berries in September.
