June 14, 2010 § 7 Comments
We were supposed to go strawberry picking this weekend. We had planned to wander out to Western Massachusetts and stumble upon some nice rambling, rolling biking roads en route to the fields of our farm (okay, it’s not really our farm, it’s just the farm from which our CSA vegetable share comes, but I like to think of it as partly mine) where, the word on the street is that strawberries are exuberantly bursting forth left and right screaming, “Pick me! Eat me!” It was going to be a perfect Saturday…and then it was rainy.
Over the course of a leisurely Saturday morning of getting the bikes ready and such and so (prefaced by a week of saying daily, “I can’t wait to go strawberry picking on Saturday!”) I had worked myself up into my standard state of childlike overexcitement. But then reality struck. The sky started clouding over with ominous looking clouds, and the radio warned of impending rain and potential thunderstorms. The omniscience of the Internet confirmed these unfortunate predictions. There was a large storm to the west, already hovering over the farm and rolling it’s way here.
Grrrr. I could feel my inner 5 year old reaching into its drawers to pull out and put on its cranky pants. This was disappointment of the worst kind – a combination of disappointed hopes of fun with, even worse, food disappointment. I had so looked forward to the ecstasy of plunking myself in a berry patch and filling both my belly and many, many baskets with juicy, red, sun warmed strawberry goodness. The alternative that awaited us if we decided to hang out at home – that being, trying once and for all to organize the disaster that is our study/studio/spare room/junk accumulating magnet – was completely unappealing. So, we decided that at the very least we would go biking anyway. The rain wasn’t here yet, and maybe it would hold off just long enough to go for a ride. We loaded up our bikes and headed over to our favorite bike route (through the gorgeous, pastoral, and ridiculously historic area around Concord, MA). The day was looking gloomier and gloomier, and by the time we were strapping on our helmets, the sky had started spritzing. And then it began to rain in earnest. Buckets. I looked over at Joel with the (now foolish seeming) statement I had made earlier echoing through my mind. “Let’s go for a ride, even if it’s raining.” He looked back at me. Neither of us really wanted to go, but neither of us really wanted to give up on the idea either. So, we plunged in. Like doing a big, splashy cannonball into a lake. At least, that’s about how wet we were within the first 5 minutes.