Saturday, April 16, 2011

Strawberry Fields

As I was walking down the empty street, deep in my own thoughts, the wonderful smell hit me, the glorious smell of strawberries. My mind climbed up from the windy maze of my thoughts and I raised my head to see one of the most beautiful scenes right there in the middle of my walk. I was passing by a strawberry field, rows and rows of green patches decorated with little tiny almost red berries. The field was empty and was taking advantage of the last hour of sunshine for the day. The sun was packing up to leave for the day and very low in the sky, she looked gorgeous. Although the sky had patches of white clouds, it was mostly reflecting a radiant blue shade that almost looked fake. It was like a beautiful painting, but what made it real and topped it all was the aroma of sweet strawberries; it made this view and experience enchanting. Instead of a quick acknowledgement and continuing with my path (as I usually do), I decided to slow down my steps and take it in. I took deep breaths and took in the smell of the strawberries, looked at the peaceful and proud field and paid my respects to the sun while appreciating the blue sky. It was a good moment.
As I continued on my walk passed the strawberry field I climbed back down into my thoughts, this time taking a different path. I thought about the fact that this may be one the last (if not only) times that I may find myself in such a scenery. In a world where efficiency, practicality, saving time and saving money are priorities, real strawberry fields and real strawberries are at risk of extinction. In a world where buildings in shapes of shopping centers, town homes or office buildings are in fast reproduction mode, fields of fruits are the ones being sacrificed. In a world where the scent of strawberry comes in forms of powder, liquid or even paper, when we come across the real thing it seems foreign and "exotic" to us.
The next time I was strolling down the ails of my local grocery store and came across strawberries, I picked one up and looked at it. It was very red, shiny, the size of the palm of my hand and did not have the slightest scent. I bet if I had bit into it there would be no taste as well. This is what our fruits are coming to, man made, hormoned and fake; they might as well be plastic!
In Seattle, there was a strawberry field where we, the civilians, could go to and pick our own strawberries. We would get a box and fill it with the fruit while munching on them in the warm field and taking our sweet time. At the end we paid for our full box and took the fresh strawberries home. They were tiny little dark red strawberries that smelled and tasted divine, real strawberries. Last year when we went back for our strawberry picking session they informed us that the field was permanently closed. They may be replacing it with condominiums.
I will go back to the street with the strawberry field more often now and I will stop to smell the strawberries and gaze at the field because it may not be there next year.