First Strawberries of the Season
I am eating my first strawberries of the season. It's been a crummy spring here in Seattle, so they're late (as usual--a couple of years back the Strawberry Festival actually had to ship in strawberries from California, since the locals weren't ready yet). Better late than never, of course, and this American is now going to take the chance to once again proclaim her superiority over everything else on the planet: my strawberries are better than yours. Nyah.
No, really--they're pretty awesome actually. For some reason the Pacific Northwest is some of the best strawberry growing country in the world. I've been told there are some pretty awesome ones in England, but England is a long ways from here. It always makes me happy and a little sad to be eating local strawberries; happy because STRAWBERRIES HMMM YES and sad because until about 60 years ago virtually all the strawberry farms were owned by Japanese families. Then came WW II and Executive Order 9066 (thanks, FDR) and once all the Japanese citizens had been safely rounded up in internment camps the farms were confiscated and turned over to Hard Working (i.e. White) Americans. Most of the Japanese never got their property back, or even compensated for it. So I think about that too when I eat my berries.
On our way back from the farmers market the Captain spotted a really ugly car; one of those Toyota Scions that's basically a cube with wheels. But there was a magnetic sign stuck to the back of the navy-blue car that looked really, weirdly familiar, and right about the time I noticed that the license plate read TARDIS1 the Captain realized that the sign was the "POLICE TELEPHONE FREE for use of PUBLIC" sign on the Actual Tardis. OK, Scion, you redeemed yourself this once.
No, really--they're pretty awesome actually. For some reason the Pacific Northwest is some of the best strawberry growing country in the world. I've been told there are some pretty awesome ones in England, but England is a long ways from here. It always makes me happy and a little sad to be eating local strawberries; happy because STRAWBERRIES HMMM YES and sad because until about 60 years ago virtually all the strawberry farms were owned by Japanese families. Then came WW II and Executive Order 9066 (thanks, FDR) and once all the Japanese citizens had been safely rounded up in internment camps the farms were confiscated and turned over to Hard Working (i.e. White) Americans. Most of the Japanese never got their property back, or even compensated for it. So I think about that too when I eat my berries.
On our way back from the farmers market the Captain spotted a really ugly car; one of those Toyota Scions that's basically a cube with wheels. But there was a magnetic sign stuck to the back of the navy-blue car that looked really, weirdly familiar, and right about the time I noticed that the license plate read TARDIS1 the Captain realized that the sign was the "POLICE TELEPHONE FREE for use of PUBLIC" sign on the Actual Tardis. OK, Scion, you redeemed yourself this once.