And so another spring passes. It was a rainy one. We had hail rattling down on cold north winds, followed by warm southwesterlies bringing thunder and lightning and bursts of torrential rain. Gully washers and frog chokers as my dad calls them. We're going to have a bumper crop of strawberries, fat sweet ones. That means lots of strawberry preserves and strawberry ice cream, made with fresh cream from our own cows. And of course strawberry shortcake till it comes out our ears. I do love strawberry shortcake. And I make the best shortcake you ever ate. Ditto sponge cake. So you can have your choice to go with your strawberries and fresh whipped cream.
I've gotten so used to eating fresh-laid eggs that when I had some at a restaurant the other day I almost couldn't eat them. Very tiny yolks and splayed out whites, obviously old, maybe weeks old, and kept refrigerated.
On the increasing sunny days the skies are often filled with towering cumulus clouds among which the barn swallows dive and tumble, and far above them the hawks and vultures circle silently. On such days we often eat outside, either on porch or patio, or take a picnic basket out to an old pine or fir. We have a grove of deodar cedars and afghan pines planted some 20 years ago that have grown into giants. The deodars remind me of Kipling and the pre-machinegun-era British imperial armies aromatic of horse sweat and saddle leather, gunpowder and tobacco, cholera, gin and adultery. How ya doin' Mrs. Vansuythen?
