With apologies to my brother

My hometown was in strawberry country. Picking those berries was a first job for many of my peers. In fact, the City of Marysville throws an annual festival about this time of year - The Strawberry Festival. (I know - creative, right?)

This festival was (and likely still is) the most exciting thing to roll through town. A car show, beauty pageant, vendors market, parade, trike races, carnival... For some reason that still eludes any explanation, my favorite part was the giant strawberries that the city painted in the major intersections along State Ave. Nothing bolsters civic pride more than government endorsed graffiti.

As for the food options, those red berries received the center stage in every dish served around town. Strawberry milkshakes, strawberry shortcake, strawberry ice cream. It was the toppings for pancakes, elephant ears. Served in scones, on skewers. Dipped in chocolate, in whip cream, in yogurt.

My family was involved with the festival for a few years. My dad, brother, and I all worked the vendors market and volunteered as parade security. It came with perks. The guy who brought the go carts gave us unlimited or extended racing time, often after hours. We were given free carnival passes and an insane amount of free food.

Oh the free food. The food vendors understood that we were in control of their power supply and their access to ice. So they repaid us with goodies. This was greatly appreciated, but as it was a benefit it was also a curse. Remember how strawberries played a central theme in the festive foods?

After eating nothing but a variation of strawberries for five consecutive days, at the end of May, every year, you suffer something akin to strawberry burnout. At least that's what happened to my brother and me. For years, neither of us could stand to eat that infernal fruit. I'm not sure if Aaron has yet recovered from his strawberry aversion, but I have. Almost.



I have regained my taste for strawberries, but only in small doses - like a man building up an immunity to a lethal poison. It is a good thing, because today was Pick a Strawberry Day.

Zu, Christian, and I took a trip after dinner to pick strawberries. And there is no better place in Coeur d'Alene to pick strawberries than the grocery store.

Christian was seriously serious about his strawberries, but Zu was so excited I feared she might bounce out of her seat.

And of course, I savored my own bowl.