Last Morsel

My wife and I met 23 years ago in college in Vermont. We have lived in New York City for the past 20 years and have a seven-year-old daughter. We also have the great good fortune to be able to schedule regular vacations at my wife’s family’s house in Quechee, Vermont.

This summer my wife, daughter and I made a strawberry picking expedition at the end of June to Cedar Circle Farm, a certified organic farm in East Thetford. After a couple of hot days, the temperature had cooled to the mid-seventies. The air was dry. It was a perfect early summer afternoon to enjoy being out on a farm.

My daughter, Maddie, ran down the hill from the farm store to the strawberry fields. Her eyes were twinkling with unbridled delight. She eagerly searched for and picked her own quart of strawberries. These weren’t giant, plastic-wrapped, flavorless red blobs from thousands of miles away. These were living, breathing fruits of the land. They wouldn’t be available in the middle of winter. They spoke of the here and now, and they will leave an indelible mark in our collective memories of our early summer vacation in Vermont.