I Will Prevail Dang It!

So much for a pleasant day spent strawberry picking. We went here first as it was on a list of farms that had strawberries as their crop:



And the place was a little too creepy for my taste. It was in a bucolic setting with an old red barn housing hay across the street. It had a charming garden in the back where it seemed not big enough for people to just come and pick their own strawberries. The New England charm of the home and property did nothing to ease this overactive, horror movie saturated imagination of mine. I walked up to the house and knocked on the door to see if anyone could tell me whether we could just pick a bushel (is that a lot?) of strawberries. No one answered or seemed to be home even though the garage door was open and an old hunting dog ambled out.

And it was sooo quiet.

I started thinking of the updated version of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre where Jessica Biel knocks on the door of an old Victorian and a legless man in a wheelchair answers the door. Instead of being repulsed and run away, she enters the house only to be felt up by him after obliging his request to help him with his colostomy bag in the bathroom.

Yeah, I didn't need to repeat that scene here, so I scrammed.

I then returned home and found another farm that I called this time and they told me I could indeed pick my own. When I got there, I saw this:



And then I checked the time and saw this:



But it didn't stop me from smiling:



Because there is always tomorrow (and I didn't feel the need to say "Fuck" one single time!).