Strawberry prison

The strawberries might have been a mistake. I don’t think I got any strawberries last year. The squirrels ate everyone of them while they were still unripe. Earlier this year I put a fence around them which on further consideration guess I should have sussed out the fact that they can get up the sides and into the thing. Which is what they did. And even now when I have this flimsy, unsightly fencing contraption on the thing, what’s the point? They gnaw through the lids of the garbage containers for less reward.

Not that I’d be getting that many of them anyway. They seem to be ripening one at a time. So the fantasy I had of carrying huge bowls of sun-ripened fruit perched on my hip into the house for breakfast every morning was going to be just that, a fantasy. Even if the squirrels weren’t getting them all, I seem to have only one, maybe two, ripening every other day. And, in any event, they are not the big juicy things I’d envisaged. They’re small and misshapen.

I don’t even really like strawberries all that much.

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