Today we cleaned, bagged, and froze twenty pounds of strawberries.
We have strawberries and/or blueberries every morning. Healthy breakfasters, that’s us.
So Hubby picked about thirty pounds of strawberries in the past week.(Five pounds already in the freezer; five pounds already through our digestive systems, so twenty pounds to fix today.)
I love picking strawberries, but I’m still working full time, while Hubby is retired, and the strawberry field is right on his way to the gym. Yeah, he has the life that I am hoping to have very soon.
We’ve tried just freezing them whole right from the field, Results are okay, but they are hard to wash once they’ve thawed, since strawberries don’t hold up quite as well as blueberries. So we wash and dry them, and cut them up for freezing. It’s not hard work, but to do so many is time-consuming. And finger staining, by the way. But I’m used to that. In our former home we had wild blackberries in our yard. One year, I stained my fingers so badly before a big meeting, I had to make a detour on my way to New York, to have a manicurist soak my fingers in Polident. In comparison, strawberries are a piece of cake. Shortcake, that is.
But it did take close to two hours to prep them all.
I stood at the kitchen island, which is a perfect height for me. But it was a little low for my husband, so he dragged in an old stool, so he could sit. This stool has been around just forever. One of those simple unpainted pine jobs. It’s been in the sunroom holding a big plant for a couple of years. And a few weeks ago, we moved it outside to the patio. But the plant was beyond help. My soft-hearted husband has a tendency to try to turn annuals into perennials. By that I mean he moves all the potted annuals into the house at the end of summer. Where I watch them slowly waste away, until my husband is watering dead sticks.
“It will come back,” says Hubby, standing over some sorry remains. “I can save it.”
So anyway, he grabbed this old stool that had been soaked from overwatering the dead stick, and then soaked lately from the rain.
But Hubby wiped it down and sat down and resumed his strawberry decapitation..
And halfway through the stool cracked and about a third of the seat crashed to the floor.
And Hubby swore.
“What a piece of shit,” he howled. “So much for all this whizz-bang modern technology…..”
It’s a friggin’ STOOL!!!