It’s Independence Day! To all my American family and friends — I miss you guys. Light a sparkler for me!! I’ll be lighting one for you!!!
And to my adopted soldier — Thinking especially of you. Hugs, cutie. You rock!
Yes, it is a celebration worthy of exclamation points.
Lesson Learned at the Fun Farm: Never stand in line with a bunch of munchkins to get your face painted. They think you’re a tree, so they just dart in front of you bouncing on their munchkin toes — full of munchkin Joy. How could I possibly tell any of those cute little sprites that I was there first? Nah. Not gonna happen. So, I made like an Ent and strode back to Middle-earth.
The pancakes were great. Three of the light fluffies with strawberries, syrup and whip cream. Goodbye GI Diet, hello yum.
I didn’t get my face painted or have a pony ride, but I didn’t leave without another crate of strawberries either. Besides, Taste of the Danforth is coming. I can get a henna tattoo. There’ll be other trees in line.
The weekend, she has arrived!
It’s officially summer — Yay! — and strawberry season is on!! Mr. G, honey really, really loves strawberries, but not more than me. Right, honey? Hmm. Okay. Maybe sometimes more than me.
In our neck of the region, there is a 220 acre fruit and vegetable farm that we visit regularly between May and the end of October, or pumpkin season. We like to eat as much seasonal and locally grown as we can. We can also get a pony ride.
We trekked out this morning to see what was available. As we pulled into the drive, we saw our favorite sign, looked at each other and yelled, “strawberries!” Strawberry season is on, and I haz a happy. We picked up a crate of six quarts, along with more basil, parsley and green pepper plants. Ours took a beating in the hailstorm last week.
We’ll be headed back there tomorrow, because it’s — yep, you got it — Strawberry Festival. You can have strawberry pancakes, watch a strawberry pie eating contest, get your face painted, have a wagon ride, and so it goes. I’m holding out for getting my face painted. I want a nice fat strawberry planted on my cheek. No. Not the tattoo cheek; the other cheek.
And, of course, you can always do the strawberry pick-your-own. I haven’t done that for a while. At three, I could eat my weight in strawberries. I don’t think I’m allowed to do that now. Still, it’s never a good idea to let me out in a pick-your-own field unsupervised. There should probably be a tongue check at the exit. Just sayin’.
It’s the longest day of the year today. What are you doing with it?
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