copyright the Chronicle August 26, 2015
by Joseph Gresser
When it comes to summer I have always been a pessimist. As a child I looked forward to the Fourth of July, but considered the summer over the next day. That was, mind you, in a place where basil keeps growing into October.
Here my pessimism passes for realism. Summer is short and every warm day is precious.
Over the years I have come to realize that I don’t measure time in the summer by the calendar, but instead by where we are on the continuum of summer fruits.
The earliest days of clement weather are marked for me by the emergence of rhubarb stalks, followed, never quickly enough, by strawberries.
After strawberries come blueberries, black currents, then raspberries. Although we are a… To read the rest of this article, and all the Chronicle‘s stories, subscribe:
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