On the strawberry patch: Comfort food with grandma


As we crossed the bridge over the tiny creek, I saw memories of sparkling summer sunlight and slipping barefoot on wet stones. We bumped across ruts in the dirt of the country road, heading toward a giant tree so burdened with ivy the vines drip from the branches. Up a hill and around a corner, and we have arrived at my Grandmother’s house for my son’s first visit.

The comfort of familiar sights and sounds put me at ease after a long overnight of travel. The barn behind the swinging metal gate, the giant dog announcing our arrival loud enough for the distant neighbors to hear, one of her

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