Strawberry Fields Forever

We spent father's day picking strawberries in a very, very hot field. Sweat tickled as it pooled and dripped down my back. I swatted and scratched because I couldn't be sure if this time the tickle weren't an insect in my shirt.

My head began to spin in the extreme heat whenever I stooped for berries. I had to move into the shade where I stood trying not to touch my own skin feeling hot, sticky and yes-- quite crabby.

Though pictured clean here, the children thoroughly stained their shirts with strawberry juice. The layers of grime and goop became much, much worse at our pic nic after where drinks were spilled and shirts were used like napkins. After dinner, we walked to a pollen dusted lake where we watched fat polly wogs squat on stumpy frog's legs and wave their fish-like tails. The smell of algae hung heavy in the humid air. The mosquitoes came out.

This, friends, is why I love my camera so. Because now that I am home, showered, changed, cool, dry, inside and away from the bugs...I can upload my photos and finally enjoy my day.


Title from the Beatles 1967 hit song by the same name.