This will probably be the last year I come to pick strawberries. It isn’t the same doing it alone. I remember the fun we had when I brought my kids here and then their children. Now, no one is interested in coming along. I wonder if I would hear about it if I didn’t make preserves for each of them anymore. Good thing I still have my mint bed, they do show up the day before they have a party to raid that so they have fresh mint for making mojitoes. Maybe I could make mint jelly next year.
In response to Charli Mills May 30, 2019, prompt at Carrot Ranch Literary: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes strawberries and mint. The combination evokes color contrast, scents, and taste. Where will the combination take you? Go where the prompt leads!
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Sue Spitulnik 
06/03/2019 at 09:01
They come, they expect, they go. Sad how the generations ignore the little things that make up their heritage, make up them. The older we get, the more we fight to make sure the experiences are not lost. Making mint jelly will perhaps open the door for the young ones to ask questions, rekindle the hope that all will not be lost.
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06/03/2019 at 16:05
Interesting stream of thoughts. Do you garden? Is this a true-to-life style of story?
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06/05/2019 at 09:52
As a youngster I helped my father plant the garden and rarely helped weed. Mom and my sisters made preserves as I was too little to help. So this is more like a fond memory except for my body doesn’t like to crouch anymore.
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06/13/2019 at 13:22
This is sad, Susan. Well written and lovely but melancholy.
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