Because I want to remember the excitement of realizing that you are in a berry patch. That somehow one of us did not make it out of our pajama top that day. That his big sister lovingly pulls him down the row, showing him the difference between a green strawberry not yet ready and those plump, juicy, red ones just waiting to be picked.
That sometimes, one of them likes to be alone. That, possibly, he is not eying the strawberries. He might be noticing the leaves. The bugs. The bees. The sounds of the birds. Or maybe he is noticing the strawberries. He may be looking for the "biggest one of all" or the "tiniest of all" or the "reddest one of all..."
That the jars are "funny" and look different (than the usual pint sized jars we use - I picked these up at some thrift store over the winter). The way "strawberry rhubarb" is not written, but drawn. Drawn simply so you can satisfy momma and still get outside and "do". That "strawberry" does not quite fit across a label and that strawberries are triangles.
