Wild Strawberries

My father always pushed the boundaries and succeeded. A college graduate, he was drafted and given “elite” jobs like striping roads, yes, laying paint. He decided he’d had enough double-time so said the troops were in need of morale and asked permission to create a band. He did, and the band stood aside after playing, and the soldiers did double-time. He ended up managing and playing violin for the Seventh Army Symphony throughout Europe after the Korean war.

My husband pushes the boundaries. I have as well. In her time I believe my mother pushed them, too.

My parents bought a house on a small street in a village of 400, when the college students were not in residence. That wasn’t enough, Dad had to have property so bought 25 acres up in the hills. We worked hard every weekend to finish that property while my sister and I looked for ways to get to the creek. The fastest way was a frayed rope to get down a cliff. For a week we shunned that and went the long way.

Ah, the long way produced tiny wild strawberries. When one lives in cold climates, fresh fruits and vegetables are prized. We picked and ate those strawberries every day they were in season and never told anyone where we found them on our property.

We now live a nomadic life that takes us where we need or want to go for business and personal purposes. My husband doesn’t play the violin but in certain ways we’re both risk-takers and we’re always problem-solvers. I think that’s what brought us together.

His family had a dairy, and now a ranch because as people get older they can’t milk a herd alone and family farms are being eaten by corporate interests. My husband has an excellent education due to his loving family and many forces and may just be the wild strawberry that needs to be chosen. Dee


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