Strawberries

It's that time of year....strawberries. They're everywhere you look.
Although things have changed now. It used to be that this was the ONLY time of year you saw strawberries. But really, you can get them all year round now. Which I think is quite sad. It kind of negates the specialness of summertime.
When I was but a slip of a lad, my mother would take my brother and I up to the fields north of the village where I grew up and we'd spend the afternoon picking fresh strawberries for her. We had to choose only the best, big ripe juicy berries for her, and of course this was done whilst simultaneously stuffing our faces with as many as we could stomach.
Then we'd lug them home and the following day my mother would get the 'jeely pan' out and the jam making would commence.
The'jeely pan' was an enormous pot about 2 feet in diameter into which the prepared berries and large quantities of sugar were emptied. After much boiling and bubbling, the jam would be considered ready to cool and my brother and I treated to huge slabs of buttered bread with the 'skimmings' of the cooling jam.
Just writing this brings back the incredible taste of summer.....
It also brings to mind that intense poem of Edwin Morgans'.....


Strawberries

There were never strawberries
like the ones we had
that sultry afternoon
sitting on the step
of the open french window
facing each other
your knees held in mine
the blue plates in our laps
the strawberries glistening
in the hot sunlight
we dipped them in sugar
looking at each other
not hurrying the feast
for one to come
the empty plates
laid on the stone together
with the two forks crossed
and I bent towards you
sweet in that air

in my arms
abandoned like a child
from your eager mouth
the taste of strawberries
in my memory
lean back again
let me love you

let the sun beat
on our forgetfulness
one hour of all
the heat intense
and summer lightning
on the Kilpatrick hills

let the storm wash the plates

-- Edwin Morgan 1920 -