From Strawberries to Sloe Gin:
Our Year of Pick-Your-Own Traditions
Strawberries have a special place in my heart. I devoured them during my first pregnancy, and now my little girl does so too. Living quite rurally, we’ve made a habit of picking our own. It’s become a yearly tradition of sorts.
Other traditions are quietly creeping in, too. I’ve overcome my suspicion of all things wholesome and embraced the purity of country living. Not, I might add, from any desire to be more IG-palatable or to dull my rebellious spirit. No. Firstly, I plan these sickly sweet activities to kill the sometimes seemingly endless hours with my kids. Doing something—anything—is better than being at home all day with no plans. That, to me, is the purest kind of Hell on earth.
Secondly: picking stuff is nearly always free or at the very least cost-of-living-crisis compatible!
And, look—I’ll admit it. As a product of this forced fun, I have also (thirdly) gained large amounts of… yes… joy. There, I said it. I’ve always adored the outdoors (cue harking on about growing up without smart phones etc etc). Honestly, there was a stretch a few years back when walking the dog was the only thing keeping me from a deep depression. But to share that joy as a family now feels really magical.
I love the fresh air, the beauty of making something with what we’ve picked, and the full-circle feeling it brings—fun, then creativity, then nourishment, then memories. And hopefully, a long night’s sleep for all.
I’ll be clear, I’m an average at best kinda cook. I plan to improve but for now a crumble, a chutney or just some strawberries paired with cream is me feeling 100% smug mum genius.
My personal favourites are apples—mostly because of their variety and how ridiculously nutritious they are. But I’ve also developed a deep love for sloes. My partner has been perfecting his sloe gin recipe for five years now. Every Christmas, we crack open last year’s batch with family and friends—It’s the kind of tradition that lets me enjoy the wholesome side of life knowing it’ll be fully offset by the debauchery that might follow plenty of gin consumption.
Bonus point: January and February are still bleak as fuck. BUT if you can brave the cold, there’s an abundance of puddles to jump and stones to throw. And—if the gods are smiling on us—some soggy grey snow to sled.