Strawberry Picking

Every June, my family drives out to a farm about an hour from the city to pick strawberries. It's been our tradition since my kids were in strollers.

This year, my oldest is sixteen and I wasn't sure he'd want to come. But on Saturday morning he was the first one in the car.

We spent the morning in the fields under a big blue sky. The little ones ate more berries than they picked. My husband found the biggest strawberry anyone had ever seen and insisted on taking a photo with it. My sixteen-year-old helped his little sister fill her basket and pretended he wasn't having fun.

We drove home sticky, sunburned and happy, the whole car smelling like strawberries. That night I made jam with my mother's recipe, and everybody hung around the kitchen waiting for the first taste.

The kids keep growing up. But some traditions keep us all together, one sweet basket at a time.