Strawberry fields forever...

I was listening to an oldies station as I nosed my car up into the rolling hills above Binghamton, humming and not really paying much attention to the music, until, yup, just as I was careening over the grassy bumps towards a parking spot, those fabulous Beatles started crooning this song. I popped the car into park and laughed. How can you ignore timing as perfect as that?

It was 8:30 in the morning. This was the scene:

Damn son. Berry pickers are some early risin' folks. It seemed like the strawberries took forever to ripen this year. I suppose weeks of dull gray rain will do that. Now that they're finally here, the jammers aren't wasting any time. Myself included.

(And no, I didn't stop here. I didn't stop until I had a full bucket, which came to twelve pounds. Anyone want free berries, swing by my house.)

Once home, I surveyed the scene. I had jars:

(Boy howdy, I had jars.)

I had my canning kitchen-partner-in-crime:

And pretty soon, I had this on the stove:

Which led to this on the windowsill:

And I am one happy woman.