Connie Biddle Morrison's Blog
January 27, 2022
Do Strawberries Call You?
I would say strawberries and tomatoes are two of my very favorite foods, and in Florida we are fortunate to be able to enjoy them year round, at least from the supermarket. Strawberries at Publix are now “fresh” from down south, and I have been exercising my right to take advantage of this, buying a container every week. I have them on cereal (overnight oats), cut up as dessert with a healthy spray of whipped cream, and straight from the container as a snack. Nothing beats a ripe strawberry.
I spent the first five years of my life on a farm where fields of tomatoes grew, but if you are a farmer, you know tomatoes and strawberries cannot be planted together, some disease or other. That did not stop my grandmom from having a strawberry patch at the back of the cow barn, and my mom and I visited it frequently when the berries were ripe, usually June in Maryland. I do not remember much about the care of berries back then. I was more in the eater category. I do remember seeing a black snake once as I moved back some leaves, and I high-tailed it out of there. But the memory of the juicy sweet berries overcame the fear of snakes and I was soon back at it. Grandmom made biscuits everyday and all that was needed for shortcake was to add a little sugar to the mix, nothing better than sun-warmed berries over hot out-of-the cookstove biscuits with a little fresh cow’s milk poured over.
Two of my uncles, Johnny and Clarence, continued the strawberry-growing tradition after they moved away. Uncle Johnny always had a huge vegetable garden with marigolds planted around the perimeter. He said that kept away the bad bugs. And then in another spot, he planted strawberries each year, mulching them with straw to keep them warm through the cold weather. Uncle Clarence did the same, but strawberries were his only crop. I guess you can take the farmer out of the farm, but you can’t take the farm out of the farmer. Both uncles seemed happiest when their hands were in the dirt. Of course, they were my two favorite uncles.
I have never attempted to grow strawberries and probably never will, but I must agree with plant experts that the taste of store-bought and home-grown are miles apart. In Delaware where I lived for over thirty years, I always went strawberry picking in June if at all possible. Our home was close to u-picks, one time just across the road, so availability was never a problem. Barrett’s Farm and Fifer’s Groves and Vegetables were too easy to ignore the opportunity. We had apples and peaches straight from the trees and strawberries when the signs went up. I know we feel like in Florida we are so lucky to have fresh everything, but central and southern Delaware is farm country, and looking back, I was lucky there, too. Even though I do not have a green thumb, I never lacked fresh fruit and veggies.
When we moved to Florida in 1978, we searched for u-picks and found Brown’s and Roger’s Farms. Roger’s was our favorite strawberry place and they are still growing them today. On Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/rogersfarmfla/), they had strawberries to pick last weekend with, hopefully, more to come. I am sure they know how to protect against this cold spell we are having. One thing we noticed when we moved here that was different from Delaware was the use of black plastic on the mounded strawberry rows, apparently a weed-deterrent and a ground warmer. I have to say I prefer straw and I will always swear that Delaware berries and tomatoes taste better…but when you’re in Paree…. Whether they are from Delaware or Florida, there is nothing like the smell of strawberries on your hands when you are capping and cutting them up.
When we moved here, we also looked for u-pick citrus groves and found one somewhere over near Hawthorne, but hard freezes quickly destroyed the trees within a couple of years after our move and we never found another. I cannot really remember exactly where it was but it was a novelty to us at the time, not able to grow oranges in Delaware. I do remember it being around Christmas-time when we did our citrus picking. Tangerines were and are my favorites with navels coming in second.
I always tell myself that I am going to make some strawberry jam with the berries I buy, but I am afraid they never last that long. I have a super easy microwave refrigerator jam recipe that I have made a few times, and it is delicious, but now I am trying to watch the amount of sugar and salt I eat so jam is on the back burner.
I read that strawberries are native to North America so that may be why we love them so much. Formerly abundant in the wild, I have never encountered any in my lifetime. I am planning to keep an eye on Roger’s Farm Facebook page and if the weather permits, I will journey over there soon, probably not to pick but to buy already picked. Then maybe I can make some of the refrigerator jam. The strawberries are calling me. Here is the link to the YouTube strawberry jam video I use whenever I can stop myself from eating all the berries…super easy! (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z6ddv...)
I spent the first five years of my life on a farm where fields of tomatoes grew, but if you are a farmer, you know tomatoes and strawberries cannot be planted together, some disease or other. That did not stop my grandmom from having a strawberry patch at the back of the cow barn, and my mom and I visited it frequently when the berries were ripe, usually June in Maryland. I do not remember much about the care of berries back then. I was more in the eater category. I do remember seeing a black snake once as I moved back some leaves, and I high-tailed it out of there. But the memory of the juicy sweet berries overcame the fear of snakes and I was soon back at it. Grandmom made biscuits everyday and all that was needed for shortcake was to add a little sugar to the mix, nothing better than sun-warmed berries over hot out-of-the cookstove biscuits with a little fresh cow’s milk poured over.
Two of my uncles, Johnny and Clarence, continued the strawberry-growing tradition after they moved away. Uncle Johnny always had a huge vegetable garden with marigolds planted around the perimeter. He said that kept away the bad bugs. And then in another spot, he planted strawberries each year, mulching them with straw to keep them warm through the cold weather. Uncle Clarence did the same, but strawberries were his only crop. I guess you can take the farmer out of the farm, but you can’t take the farm out of the farmer. Both uncles seemed happiest when their hands were in the dirt. Of course, they were my two favorite uncles.
I have never attempted to grow strawberries and probably never will, but I must agree with plant experts that the taste of store-bought and home-grown are miles apart. In Delaware where I lived for over thirty years, I always went strawberry picking in June if at all possible. Our home was close to u-picks, one time just across the road, so availability was never a problem. Barrett’s Farm and Fifer’s Groves and Vegetables were too easy to ignore the opportunity. We had apples and peaches straight from the trees and strawberries when the signs went up. I know we feel like in Florida we are so lucky to have fresh everything, but central and southern Delaware is farm country, and looking back, I was lucky there, too. Even though I do not have a green thumb, I never lacked fresh fruit and veggies.
When we moved to Florida in 1978, we searched for u-picks and found Brown’s and Roger’s Farms. Roger’s was our favorite strawberry place and they are still growing them today. On Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/rogersfarmfla/), they had strawberries to pick last weekend with, hopefully, more to come. I am sure they know how to protect against this cold spell we are having. One thing we noticed when we moved here that was different from Delaware was the use of black plastic on the mounded strawberry rows, apparently a weed-deterrent and a ground warmer. I have to say I prefer straw and I will always swear that Delaware berries and tomatoes taste better…but when you’re in Paree…. Whether they are from Delaware or Florida, there is nothing like the smell of strawberries on your hands when you are capping and cutting them up.
When we moved here, we also looked for u-pick citrus groves and found one somewhere over near Hawthorne, but hard freezes quickly destroyed the trees within a couple of years after our move and we never found another. I cannot really remember exactly where it was but it was a novelty to us at the time, not able to grow oranges in Delaware. I do remember it being around Christmas-time when we did our citrus picking. Tangerines were and are my favorites with navels coming in second.
I always tell myself that I am going to make some strawberry jam with the berries I buy, but I am afraid they never last that long. I have a super easy microwave refrigerator jam recipe that I have made a few times, and it is delicious, but now I am trying to watch the amount of sugar and salt I eat so jam is on the back burner.
I read that strawberries are native to North America so that may be why we love them so much. Formerly abundant in the wild, I have never encountered any in my lifetime. I am planning to keep an eye on Roger’s Farm Facebook page and if the weather permits, I will journey over there soon, probably not to pick but to buy already picked. Then maybe I can make some of the refrigerator jam. The strawberries are calling me. Here is the link to the YouTube strawberry jam video I use whenever I can stop myself from eating all the berries…super easy! (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z6ddv...)
October 28, 2021
Halloween in the 1950s
With Halloween around the corner, I am taken back to the 1950s and trick or treating with my best friend, Patsy Marvel. We lived near a very tiny town, Houston, Delaware (that’s Howston not Youston). I attended a Methodist church there, and that is where I met Patsy. Unlike me, Patsy had lots of brothers and sisters and was out-going and friendly to everyone. I was forever looking for someone to play with, but my shy self did not always succeed. Patsy was easy.
Do you remember UNICEF? And churches collecting for that organization during Halloween? Our Methodist church always had a big party for the trick or treaters and encouraged all of us to add this “treat” of donation for a worthy cause to our Halloween shenanigans. To me it made Halloween, already such a fun time, seem important and worthwhile.
A large part of Halloween is all about the planning. After all, you get to be someone else for a few hours, an acting part for which a passion is necessary. Like everyone, we wanted to do something different and spent hours writing down ideas. We shared an interest in books and wrote down our favorite characters, but all of them seemed trite and done before. Peter Pan, Cinderella and Snow White held no appeal for us. The three Stoogies or the seven dwarfs were a maybe for a while. But we needed a crowd for them, and we were more of a two-man team.
Then, Patsy had a brilliant idea. “What about that guy we saw at the Harrington Fair? You remember, the organ-grinder and the monkey. I’ll be the monkey, and you can play my brother’s toy accordion. We’ll be hilarious and get tons of candy!” How could I argue with that?
We set about pulling together costumes. Old clothes from one of Patsy’s brothers were perfect for me. A bright red shirt that matched the little accordion made me stand out in a crowd and with a blue tie normally saved for church, I looked very professional, especially when I added an old hat and stuck a found bird’s feather in it. Another friend volunteered his dog’s leash and collar for the “monkey.”
Patsy, who never gave up easily, found an actual gorilla costume, not a monkey but close enough. After “borrowing” a tin cup from her mom’s pantry, we were in business. Patsy started practicing her gorilla/monkey sounds immediately, and I got pretty adept on that little accordion. With our tin cup for UNICEF and our decorated paper bags for candy, we were ready for the big night.
The only thing we hadn’t planned on was how quickly it got dark, but with that accordion, you could hear us coming from quite a distance, and
when we appeared in front of an open door with the porch light on, mouths did form that 0 of surprise. I pushed and pulled on that accordion and Patsy grunted and squeaked and handed out peanuts in the shell like a good little monkey. We had the best time ever and did get loads of treats for us and the church. It was the very best Halloween I ever remember having. Wish I had pictures of the organ-grinder and the monkey, but sadly, photos were not high on our list of priorities.
Do you remember UNICEF? And churches collecting for that organization during Halloween? Our Methodist church always had a big party for the trick or treaters and encouraged all of us to add this “treat” of donation for a worthy cause to our Halloween shenanigans. To me it made Halloween, already such a fun time, seem important and worthwhile.
A large part of Halloween is all about the planning. After all, you get to be someone else for a few hours, an acting part for which a passion is necessary. Like everyone, we wanted to do something different and spent hours writing down ideas. We shared an interest in books and wrote down our favorite characters, but all of them seemed trite and done before. Peter Pan, Cinderella and Snow White held no appeal for us. The three Stoogies or the seven dwarfs were a maybe for a while. But we needed a crowd for them, and we were more of a two-man team.
Then, Patsy had a brilliant idea. “What about that guy we saw at the Harrington Fair? You remember, the organ-grinder and the monkey. I’ll be the monkey, and you can play my brother’s toy accordion. We’ll be hilarious and get tons of candy!” How could I argue with that?
We set about pulling together costumes. Old clothes from one of Patsy’s brothers were perfect for me. A bright red shirt that matched the little accordion made me stand out in a crowd and with a blue tie normally saved for church, I looked very professional, especially when I added an old hat and stuck a found bird’s feather in it. Another friend volunteered his dog’s leash and collar for the “monkey.”
Patsy, who never gave up easily, found an actual gorilla costume, not a monkey but close enough. After “borrowing” a tin cup from her mom’s pantry, we were in business. Patsy started practicing her gorilla/monkey sounds immediately, and I got pretty adept on that little accordion. With our tin cup for UNICEF and our decorated paper bags for candy, we were ready for the big night.
The only thing we hadn’t planned on was how quickly it got dark, but with that accordion, you could hear us coming from quite a distance, and
when we appeared in front of an open door with the porch light on, mouths did form that 0 of surprise. I pushed and pulled on that accordion and Patsy grunted and squeaked and handed out peanuts in the shell like a good little monkey. We had the best time ever and did get loads of treats for us and the church. It was the very best Halloween I ever remember having. Wish I had pictures of the organ-grinder and the monkey, but sadly, photos were not high on our list of priorities.
July 29, 2021
First Times Away From Home
Although I can’t remember the exact year, I think it was around 1974 so Eric would have been 9 and Erica almost 8. The church we attended had organized a camping excursion for the boys that was quite a distance away. We lived in Delaware and the camp was in western Pennsylvania. Eric was excited to go and, always the adventurer, he had no qualms about going so far away from home for a week. He had a list of things to take and was packed and ready to go far in advance of the actual date of departure. I snapped a photo of the group of boys standing in front of the bus on the big day, and I think Eric was the only one smiling. (I promise I was not an evil mother!)
Erica, exhibiting some sibling rivalry and possibly some jealousy, expressed the need for a trip of her own so I suggested we ask my mom if she would be up for a visit. She was delighted to accommodate and Erica begged to use my adult suitcase which she began filling immediately with everything but the proverbial kitchen sink. The only time she got a little teary was when she had to say goodbye to her cat, who was expecting kittens.
All was well, though, when we got to Grandmom’s. She lived about 40 miles away in the country, a short distance from Middletown, Delaware. We had visited often in the past and everything was familiar to Erica including the chickens and two beagles. And Grandmom had bought a new Barbie as a surprise. Miss Kitty was a faint memory by the time we left to go back home.
Needless to say, Jim and I were delighted as well. A whole week to ourselves! We planned a couple of short trips of our own, and we could see that movie we had been yearning for.
Days one and two came and went without event until the evening of day two when Grandmom called to say Erica was homesick and was begging for us to come up and get her. I talked to her on the phone and asked if she could stay that night as it was very late, and she agreed, but not ecstatically. I thought it might be just a spur of the moment longing for home that would pass. No, bright and early the next morning, Grandmom put a sniffling Erica on the phone. She wanted to come home. Now, I know my mom and I know she went out of her way to show her love and entertain her granddaughter, but I don’t think homesickness has been aptly defined by Mr. Webster. Erica was out of her comfort zone, and we hit the road.
As we neared Grandmom’s house, I saw this little person standing in the middle of the road, chin down and arms dragging. Grandmom was nearby looking almost as sad. Erica ran toward us as soon as she saw who it was. She didn’t even give us a hug, just jumped in the car and stayed there while we gathered up her things. All of us were clueless as to why. She did ask if I had gotten her new Barbie. At home she hugged on her kitty until I feared suffocation.
Eric, on the other hand, did not communicate for the entire week. We picked him up at the church, and he couldn’t stop talking about what a great time he had. He brought back gifts for us, a duffel bag full of dirty laundry, and a blossoming case of poison ivy. And that’s the difference between boys and girls.
Erica, exhibiting some sibling rivalry and possibly some jealousy, expressed the need for a trip of her own so I suggested we ask my mom if she would be up for a visit. She was delighted to accommodate and Erica begged to use my adult suitcase which she began filling immediately with everything but the proverbial kitchen sink. The only time she got a little teary was when she had to say goodbye to her cat, who was expecting kittens.
All was well, though, when we got to Grandmom’s. She lived about 40 miles away in the country, a short distance from Middletown, Delaware. We had visited often in the past and everything was familiar to Erica including the chickens and two beagles. And Grandmom had bought a new Barbie as a surprise. Miss Kitty was a faint memory by the time we left to go back home.
Needless to say, Jim and I were delighted as well. A whole week to ourselves! We planned a couple of short trips of our own, and we could see that movie we had been yearning for.
Days one and two came and went without event until the evening of day two when Grandmom called to say Erica was homesick and was begging for us to come up and get her. I talked to her on the phone and asked if she could stay that night as it was very late, and she agreed, but not ecstatically. I thought it might be just a spur of the moment longing for home that would pass. No, bright and early the next morning, Grandmom put a sniffling Erica on the phone. She wanted to come home. Now, I know my mom and I know she went out of her way to show her love and entertain her granddaughter, but I don’t think homesickness has been aptly defined by Mr. Webster. Erica was out of her comfort zone, and we hit the road.
As we neared Grandmom’s house, I saw this little person standing in the middle of the road, chin down and arms dragging. Grandmom was nearby looking almost as sad. Erica ran toward us as soon as she saw who it was. She didn’t even give us a hug, just jumped in the car and stayed there while we gathered up her things. All of us were clueless as to why. She did ask if I had gotten her new Barbie. At home she hugged on her kitty until I feared suffocation.
Eric, on the other hand, did not communicate for the entire week. We picked him up at the church, and he couldn’t stop talking about what a great time he had. He brought back gifts for us, a duffel bag full of dirty laundry, and a blossoming case of poison ivy. And that’s the difference between boys and girls.
