Strawberry socials, I might be aging myself, but my grandparents would take me every year for my birthday to the little country church social.
I remember so well anticipating the strawberry shortcake, while hurrying through all the homemade salads and ham. Although I did saveur a good deviled egg or two or three.
The lines were always long, but people would chat and catch up as we waited for the next sitting. The heat of late June, and the amount of rain we had gotten, farmers predicting the bounty of the summer crops, who was getting married, new babies including calves and pigs, were just some of the topics. The old people always asking if I was excited about summer break, how school went and remarking on how much I look like my grandma or mother. It really was social.
It’s kinda bitter sweet thinking on these things, as time has flown past. My grandpa is just a memory, my grandma is struggling after a stroke to keep hers.
But I could not pass by this sweet memory plant today, as a million emotions fleeted through my mind, the promises of pleasure hanging from it’s vine.