I was six or maybe seven. Our school was out for the summer. What was one of the first things my brother and sister and I did? Was it sit in front of the television and watch or favorite tv programs the rest of the day? Or maybe we ran to a friends house to play. No, we did neither of those. My brother and sister were now old enough to go pick strawberries. We lived in “the boonies” as I affectionately call them. Our nearest neighbors were about a quarter of a mile away. We had open fields ripe with strawberries. So we all went out with containers to pick those plump, succulent red morsels of goodness. As I recall, we didn’t bring many berries home. Maybe enough for a pie, but we sure ate enough of that ripe, red fruit. In fact, it became a tradition. We did it every summer for many other years. Today, I was looking at pictures I wanted to save and back up. I had to smile at some of t...