Yesterday we went picking. We harvested great big lung fulls of fresh air and caught sun on our faces (as well as berry juice and mud if you’re Sammy).
Living in the country is something we’ve been thinking a lot about lately. Whilst I’m a city girl through and through, Jon misses the sea and his stories of surfing before school make me long for Sammy to have the same. When I first brought J to meet my Nanny many moons ago, she’d always comment that he wasn’t from round these parts with that colour in his cheeks. The air, the salt on his lips, Jon is never happier than when he’s fresh from the ocean. Perhaps one day we’ll all be ready, I feel I’m heading that way if it wasn’t for family and friends and work keeping us here (errr all pretty vital, no?). But those are thoughts for another time.
Anyway, despite living in the greenest part of London, it’s all too easy to forget that we have hints of country-living so nearby. After a week of S being poorly, I decided we needed a proper afternoon off and a few hours in Garsons Farm was the pretty fine tonic. With Sam in the back, my mum and I drove beneath the hot sky, between fields of corn and redcurrants pretending we were back on our Thelma and Louise road trip across the Deep South (me and my mum do like a good adventure together).
Weighed and paid, we came home with baskets full of strawberries and courgettes. We were pretty conservative in our haul (blame the unsuspecting six year old at the pick’n’mix paypoint in me) but no doubt we’ll be back again soon for more. It’s a amazing what a difference a change of scene can make, as well as fresh courgettes for tea.