On the Lookout

Strawberries are practically their own food group in my house.  They are easily one of my top three favorite foods, and my two kids can  eat their own body weight over the course of a week.  My husband is more of a raspberry/blackberry kind of guy, but that's his problem.  Not mine.  So I decided that it would be a good idea to get over to Marini Farm to fill up my PYO basket early, before the picking season kicked in and the fields were picked over. 

This past weekend I took my favorite  yard-saling buddy, my 4 year-old daughter Amelia, with me on the excursion.  I wasn't sure she'd want to come, but she was thrilled at the idea of taking her new binoculars, which we had purchased just that morning at an awesome yard sale, so she could "be on the lookout for the strawberries".  Who could argue with that offer?  Weather-wise, it was an awesome day for picking.  Not really.  It was chilly, slightly windy, and drizzling.  When I asked the cashier where the strawberry field was, I think she thought I was crazy for committing to an hour or two of work on a crummy day like this. 

I had my doubts, but Amelia was a trooper, and we had a really wonderful afternoon.  We crouched up one row and down the next, on the hunt for plump, red berries hiding underneath the outer leaves of the bushes.  Me, with my hat on and picking tray in hand.  And Amelia with binoculars hanging from her neck and a single pint box to collect her treasure.  I showed her how to gently pull the berries from the stem and to choose the red berries and not the white ones.  Amelia, who has never been a fan of new things or transitions, was a little thrown by the drizzle and would reassure me (her), every two minutes "Mom.  OK.  If it starts to rain, we'll just head back to the car and get going home.  OK?"  Ok, Amelia.  No problem. 

About 20 minutes later, I realized that the questions had stopped and the fear was gone.  I looked up from the spot where I was picking, and saw Amelia running towards me, basket in one hand, half-eaten berry in the other, pink stains dripping down her chin, and mud halfway up to her knees.  She was beaming, ready to show me the 3 berries she'd managed to find and not eat. 

Seeing Amelia like this was one of those priceless moments where I feel this instant desire to bottle the moment somehow so that I can pull it out whenever I want and always know good it feels to feel this happy over something to innocent and uncomplicated.  And it's moments like these when the thought instantly runs through my head, "I should call my Dad and tell him about this" or, "Dad would get such a kick out of this.  I should text him a picture."  And on this day it hit me.  I can't do that anymore. 

Anyone that knows me, or my family, knows that my Dad passed just three weeks ago.  After 18 months, he lost his battle with cancer.  My sweet, kind, loving, loyal and supportive father.  And while I have many days when I feel OK and (sort of) at peace with how things have turned out, in this particular moment, I am crushed.  It had become part of my daily routine to find any reason I could to call my Dad during the day and share something funny that Amelia had said or done to make him smile.  Amelia always made Bippy smile.  They were a special pair.  Shortly before Dad passed, a friend, who has also lost a parent, told me that after my Dad was gone, I would eventually feel happy again, but it would be different.  In this moment, it was impossible not to question the possibility of feeling truly happy again, knowing that my father wouldn't be there to be part of it. 

Amelia kept plugging on, through the drizzle, picking and tasting.  Standing on top of the nearest dirt pile, searching through her binoculars for the next bunch of strawberries to pick, doing her best pirate imitation.  When she finally tired of picking berries (or I suspect when she got so full she simply couldn't eat another bite), Amelia decided to pick some flowers for her Dad.  When I had nearly filled my tray with ripe strawberries, Amelia asked if it was time to head home for some hot coacoa.  Sounds good to me! 

On our way back to the car, we waved up at Bippy in heaven.  Amelia told me that picking strawberries was really fun and that I was a good strawberry picker.  I buckled her into her carseat and, without missing a beat, she held up her binoculars and informed me that she was on the lookout for our green house.  In the end, it was a great afternoon.  Who knew that strawberries could be so bonding?  I miss my Dad terribly.  But I have a feeling he was there watching all the moments that I want so badly to share with him now.