“Every summer my sister and I would go with my grandparents to the local strawberry farm and spend all morning picking only the best fruit. We went first thing in the morning, before it got too hot. My grandpa would check our baskets to make sure we picked the best fruit with the deepest ruby color and the juiciest texture. Once we were back, we’d spend the afternoon preparing homemade jam. Cleaning was my favorite part because I was able to steal a piece or two. Grandpa and I would try to sneak it without letting my grandma catch us. My hands would be stained red for days after from picking the stems and cleaning the fruit. I always had a sense of pride every time we cracked open one of the jams we made. I think my grandparents always knew it was about the memories more than the jam.”
