Pick your own. Childhood memories of picking gluts of fruit with my grandparents for my grandmother to turn into jam that she would gift in excess for the rest of the year. Grappling around on your knees to find the best fruit and eating more than you took home. Try before you buy. Times have moved on, it would seem.
As a woman who had inherited a strawberry allergy from her mother at birth, leaving her mother allergy free while she dreamed of strawberries all summer, I was OVER THE MOON after having Effy that I not only seemed to have ditched the allergy, but Effy wasn't allergic either. So we have spent as much time as possible eating as many strawberries as possible ever since. Safe to say my little fruit bat can inhale strawberries faster than sweets, which makes me a very happy woman!
So yesterday, we went to pick our own. We finally got to explore Dovecote Buttery in Newton between Kettering and Corby, having driven past a million times, commenting on how we really should visit.
In the afternoon sun the strawberries shone like little red beacons throughout the rows and rows of plants ready for the picking. Delicious. But the plants weren't down on the ground, they were on legs, making them perfect adult picking height... And not quite so toddler friendly picking height. However, it became apparent that it was probably no bad thing, as Effy quickly realised that there were a lot of strawberries for the eating and she needed careful supervision. No sooner had daddy put some strawberries in the punnet had a little hand grabbed one to munch on... And another. And another.
With two punnets and a toddler full of strawberries, we took advantage of the beautiful weather and played in the play area while Lowen slept and indulged in an icecream before heading home.
A really perfect summer afternoon activity... And a perfect excuse for eating strawberries for the rest of the week. Whipped cream? Rude not to...