As a child, I knew it was really summer when we headed down the road on our banana seat bikes to Birds Strawberry Farm, where we would gorge ourselves on the juicy red berries. That farm only exists in my memories-- having long ago been transformed into a subdivision full of matching, cookie-cutter houses.

But, this year, my summer has again begun with strawberries.  Bowls of nearly ripe berries fill my kitchen, picked by my husband each evening in his button-down shirt, pressed pants, and dress shoes. It was his idea, of course, to transform our tiny city lot into a strawberry patch-- one that has attracted neighbor compliments and a steadily growing population of urban rabbits.