Pick a whole buncha strawberries while visiting your papaw’s farm outside of Little Rock (specifically Cherry Hill, right outside of Perryville). Be sure to taste a few berries along the way for good measure.
Ask your best friend for her grandma’s famous strawberry pie recipe and hope she gives it to you. (Thanks, Tor!)
Wash dem berries. Then wash again. Because, you know, bugs and such.
Find a cute boy to help you make the pie, then try to secretly take a picture when he least expects it.
Assemble the pie!
Bring the pie to your memorial day cookout with friends and watch them devour it with a little whipped cream and/or homemade vanilla Bluebell. I, of course, suggest both. Then serve yourself up a giant piece and smile because life is good.
This week I am watching Mr. Henry for some friends who are hanging out in Spain for a little while. He’s a hoot.
Henry likes: running around the couch like a maniac, army crawling under the coffee table, playing hockey with scary dead bugs, waiting until “ok” for food, staring Brent deep in the eyes, sniffing baby heads in the park, making me bring two poop bags on every walk, and wiggling himself between all the pillows to find the most comfortable resting spot after a wild spell.
I think I might keep him.
and so it goes,