WHERE FOLKS GATHER
Celebrating Community in Honey Hill Country with Lillian Harper
“Strawberry Days in Honey Hill”
Lillian Harper rarely misses an opportunity to attend a gathering, celebration, fair, or special event.
From strawberry festivals and town picnics to holiday celebrations and community traditions, she delights in bringing readers along to experience the people, stories, and memories that bring neighbors together.
Long before I reached Bramble Creek Farm, I could smell strawberries.
Not one strawberry.
Thousands.
The sweet scent drifted across the fields and down the road, announcing the Honey Hill Strawberry Days long before the tents, wagons, and crowds came into view.
By the time I arrived on Saturday afternoon, the celebration was already well underway. Wagons filled a meadow near the entrance. White tents fluttered gently in the June breeze. Families moved from one attraction to another carrying baskets, ribbons, parcels, and occasionally small children who had become too tired to walk any farther.
Beyond it all stretched the strawberry fields themselves. Row after row of bright red berries seemed to disappear into the distance.
And everywhere one looked, people were smiling.
I began where many visitors appeared to begin — in the Pick-Your-Own field.
Children carrying small wooden berry baskets moved enthusiastically between the rows. Some were clearly more interested in sampling the crop than collecting it. One young fellow proudly showed me a basket containing perhaps a dozen strawberries.
Judging by the evidence around his mouth, I estimated he had already eaten twice that many.
His mother seemed inclined to agree.
Children seemed particularly well suited to the task. While adults bent and stooped their way down the rows, youngsters moved easily from plant to plant, gathering berries at nearly ground level as though they had been designed specifically for strawberry season.
A farmer standing nearby watched the activity with obvious satisfaction.
“Best crop we’ve had in three years,” he told me.
The berries certainly looked the part.
Bright, sweet, and plentiful, they seemed to embody everything people love about early summer.
Not far away, a line had formed beside a tent devoted entirely to preserves, jams, and jellies. An elderly grandmother, Martha Cartwright, stood proudly behind several gleaming jars of strawberry preserves.
“My mother taught me this recipe,” she explained, “and her mother taught her.”
She paused thoughtfully.
“I expect I’ll teach it to my granddaughter one day too.”
Mrs. Cartwright’s preserves earned a blue ribbon.
From there I followed the irresistible aroma of baking, and the dessert tent proved impossible to ignore.
Strawberry pies cooled on long wooden tables. Cakes stood proudly beside cobblers. Shortcakes disappeared almost as quickly as they could be served.
Several visitors encouraged me to sample various offerings in the interest of proper reporting.
It seemed only polite to cooperate.
A slice of strawberry pie quickly confirmed their wisdom.
As did a strawberry cookie.
And later, a serving of cobbler.
For journalistic purposes, of course.
The winner of this year’s Best Strawberry Dessert ribbon was Mrs. Prudence Wilkes and her Strawberry Cream Layer Cake. Samples of that had regrettably disappeared long before noon, I was informed.
By the time I reached the judging table, at least half a dozen people were already attempting to obtain the recipe, and Mrs. Wilkes appeared to be enjoying the attention.
The warm afternoon eventually persuaded me to seek something cool to drink. Fortunately, Bramble Creek Farm had anticipated that very need. A glass of cold strawberry sweet cider proved wonderfully refreshing.
Nearby, several young ladies participating in the Strawberry Queen competition greeted visitors while carrying baskets filled with freshly picked berries.
Most wore white dresses, though a few chose pale pinks and soft blues. Against the bright red strawberries, the colors looked perfectly suited to a June afternoon.
One contestant admitted she was a little nervous. Another confessed she was quite nervous. Both smiled anyway, lest the judges notice.
Music drifted across the grounds throughout the day. A fiddler played beneath a shade tent, with a guitarist accompanying him for several songs. Children danced. Adults tapped their feet. Nobody appeared in much of a hurry. The music simply became part of the atmosphere.
As pleasant as all of this was, loud laughter seemed to come from a grassy field near the edge of the festival.
There I discovered the Strawberry Hop.
A dozen painted wooden strawberries had been arranged in a winding pattern across the grass. Contestants were required to hop from one strawberry to the next without stepping off the course. Simple enough in theory. Slightly less simple in practice.
Particularly after several overripe strawberries had somehow found their way beneath a few enthusiastic feet.
The resulting red footprints appeared to be spreading rapidly.
A barefoot youngster, his feet already stained pinkish-red, informed me that I ought to give the Strawberry Hop a try.
I thanked him kindly for the invitation, but after carefully considering the matter, I decided the competition would be better served by younger participants.
He seemed to find this decision highly amusing.
Nearby, an elderly lady watching from a lawn chair shook her head and laughed.
“They’ve been making that same mess since before I was married.”
Some traditions never seem to change.
Messy fun, it seems, is timeless.
As afternoon gradually drifted toward evening, families began making their way home. Wagons that had arrived empty now carried baskets of strawberries and tired children, several of whom were already napping. Friends lingered a little longer than necessary, promising to see one another again soon.
A new Strawberry Queen was crowned before the day came to a close. Miss Clara Belle Jennings of Round Corners wore a bright red sash across her white summer dress and appeared both delighted and slightly overwhelmed by the attention. Her parents, standing nearby, wore what may have been the proudest smiles on the entire festival grounds.
The strawberry season itself lasts only a few short weeks.
Perhaps that is one reason people celebrate it so enthusiastically.
Like summer itself, it never stays quite as long as we would like.
Still, for one bright Saturday afternoon beside Bramble Creek, Honey Hill Country gathered together to enjoy the sweetness of both.
And that seemed reason enough for a festival.
Pen-and-ink illustrations have been created for this piece with the assistance of AI . . . lovingly prepared and styled for the world of Little Red Bear.
James Milson - The Writing Pages 