We loaded up the girls last Saturday and went strawberry picking. These yearly outings are one of our beloved family traditions. One that started back before I can remember. My mamaw and papaw took me every year when I was little, my mama took me when I was a bit older, now I take Brandon and the girls.

In Wilmington, we frequented the Lewis Nursery strawberry fields. I have so many precious memories from there. Now that we live in Fayetteville, we go to Gillis Hill Road Produce. 

This was only our second year (COVID derailed last year’s trip) driving out to GHRP to spend the morning harvesting fresh strawberries. The activities are pretty much the same, though. We pick berries, buy a couple of plants, grab an ice cream cone, and walk around the farm. Brandon is a good sport as the girls feed the livestock, and I take way too many photos. We turn it into a whole event.

While we combed the fields for our ruby-colored gems, it occurred to me that this tradition of ours has existed for four generations in my family. Four generations, spanning 100 years, have come together in strawberry fields. Once, quite literally. I suppose strawberry picking is one of those threads that bind my family. 

What threads bind yours? Does your family go strawberry picking too, or do you sit out on the porch to snap string beans? I’d love to hear about it in the comment section below.