My family used to rent a garden owned by a big university in my hometown. This was something new for all of us - starting a new thing looked exciting for the entire family to grow strawberries and other vegetables. As a young kid, since day one when I heard about it, I couldn’t help but imagine how it felt to pick strawberries and place them in a woven bamboo basket. You must have seen how delighted I was at that time. I was over the moon.
Since it was a welcomed change, our weekend schedule was also altered. Instead of just staying at home or playing with neighbors, every Saturday, we would go to the garden with mom and dad. It was obviously fun for a couple of months. Yes, at first it was, but then as time went by, I realized that it needed hard work that’s why farmers hire men to work with them. The simple thought that it was fun didn’t entirely change, rather a goal was added to it. Every harvest time, we wake up early, so we could deliver the grates and baskets of ripped strawberries. That's the goal I am talking about. My parents and siblings picked fast, but I found my pace quite slow. There was no pressure, but I also wanted to keep up with them. Well, as I continued to work in the garden, I somehow learned to work faster than I used to. It was a simple achievement for a young child like me. Maybe no one knew about it back then. But now, you are reading it yourself.
This experience we had as siblings obviously showed that my younger brothers and I loved growing strawberries back then. Why did I say that? We had a small backyard where my mom grew vegetables for the family. There's still space unweeded, so we cleaned our “own” lot and made plots for our strawberry runners brought home. Because of this experience I even prayed to God that I would like to be the best agriculturist in the future (a child can dream whatever he/she desires). As I grew my strawberries, I used to talk to them while watering, weeding, and putting fertilizer (stolen from my parents garden shade). Flowers started to bud and bloom that gave color to the view. As the strawberries matured - colors were changing slowly. Imagine me waking up early just to water my plants, but actually checking if the first fruit is already ripped. I had done this as a routine before setting off to school.
My long wait, at last, came to an end. Yes! The first fruit of my strawberry turned RED - ready to be picked up. Imagine a child who’s looking at his or her most awaited present handed by someone. That emotion was the intensity of my feelings at that time. I prepared myself to carefully pick the fruit. Eating that single strawberry didn’t ever cross my mind. I right away washed and looked for my mom. “There she is.” With delight, I extended my hand to give it to my mom. She said, “No, you eat it.” My enthusiasm was changed into a question, “WHY?” I insisted for her to receive it. So she did. The joy of seeing the strawberry was doubled when my mom ate it. I was in seventh heaven at that time. I think that this indelible experience is the very reason every time I see a strawberry a smile is painted on my face, and I can’t help but reminisce that day - The FIRST FRUIT OF MY STRAWBERRY FOR MY MOM WHOM I DEARLY LOVED.
Thank you for reading!