Strawberry Shortcake

There is nothing like staying home for real comfort.

Jane Austin

Strawberries are summer’s sweetness. Red, plump, and juicy goodness stain our clothes and faces as we make strawberry jam and shortcakes. Local producers sell these seeded gems and dare you to try and make it home without devouring them. We have yet to win.

So delicious are strawberries that we now have a patch of our own to enjoy on our summer gardening excursions.

Dicing up strawberries, Eva scoots her stool over next to me and climbs up, eager to help prepare the strawberry mixture- stealing a bite or two as we dice.

Without notice, she says, “It’s like music, Mommy.” I smiled, thinking of the memory bank she was creating.

A part of me hopes she doesn’t remember all the times I had to tell her to “Stop that” or “Move your stool over some so I can work” or “Get your fingers out of the bowl.” But then again, I suppose those are things that must be said.

The smell of the fresh sliced strawberries producing juices on the counter is a powerful agent. Not to mention, the shortcakes rising in the oven. They create a crust of craters to house the berries as the juice sits in pools of red in every corner. Whipped cream is the crowning jewel. A dollop is nowhere near enough.

This particular summertime treat is enjoyed to its fullest on a picnic blanket or the porch. Campfires will do just fine as well.

Whipped cream covered Eva’s face, and Charlotte’s first taste began and ended with a crescendo of “mmmm!” Her little hands and feet went a mile a minute to get another taste of pure satisfaction.

My folks came for a visit about a month ago. We had a busy day full of activities. The girls had an event to attend, and the guys hung around the house taking care of outside work. The day continued into the evening- longer than usual days but well worth it.

As we rounded the sunset, everyone seemed to find a spot on the front porch. Mom and Dad found the rocking chairs, and I found a place on the stairs. Eva was out in the yard swinging on her tree swing. Chuck was out in the shop closing everything up, while Charlotte found herself fast asleep.

My Grandaddy’s guitar found its way into my possession after he went home to Heaven. Dad was strumming away. Eva came running onto the porch, fascinated with his voice and how he played. We sang many songs from when I was a girl- laughing and enjoying. The evening was warm and inviting. The company was just as friendly. I thought of Eva’s words about strawberries tasting like music. Only this time, I reversed it. The peaceful music and evening comforts of home tasted as sweet as strawberry shortcake

Welcome Home

“Whatever house you enter, first say, ‘peace to this house.’” Luke 10:5