It's pretty much the end of strawberry season here, but Husband and I were able to find a U-pick farm that still had some nice berries, although we had to search for them. As we picked, I told Husband stories about the family garden we had when I was growing up. I told him about the raspberries that seemed to take over the fence line. I told him how we would sneak strawberries off the plants while we were playing outside. I told him about the hot summer days spent pulling weed after weed after stupid weed from between the plants. I told him about going outside to cut some lettuce and pull some carrots for our salad. I told him about how I hated that garden at times...okay, pretty much all the time. But standing there, in the middle of that strawberry patch, I told him how much I missed it. It's funny that you never realize how important something is until you don't have it anymore. As a teenager, I would do everything possible to avoid working in the garden. Now, I would give anything to be back there.