Strawberry Fields Forever

Gosh almighty! Twenty years!! How did it happen? I finally have my twenty-year pin. I’m a real Islander. I was told when I moved here it took twenty years to be a real Islander.

Sure enough, Twenty years is coming up this November. So technically this is only my nineteenth Strawberry Festival.

Yes, I’ve been the mother that made the gi-normous Strawberry Felt hat that kept flopping over the whole route of the children’s parade back when madras shorts and shirts still had some semblance of fasionista to them. I’ve moved through the progression of independence remembering the first year I sat and talked with friends while various kids checked in every hour.

This year I’ll sit and knit in front of the Presbyterian Church on a rented chair having used my parking pass. I will have helped Friends of the Library set up the day before = remember to buy books at the sale on Saturday= and later Saturday a group of my spoken word cohorts will be arriving and, at this point, we’re still in the final stages of working out how to have a speakers ‘corner’ in front of the bookshop right before the swing dance. During the swing dance I’ll don some wings to advertise the ‘Free as a DoVE Dance’ next March 30th = do you have your SAVE THE DATE magnet?= that is a fundraiser for ending domestic violence on the Island.

That’s the way it is on the Island. If you are actively involved there are most likely some fun things in your life, some serious things, some passions, some visionary things.

For one weekend we get together uptown and celebrate our community.

I heard they aren’t going to call it the Strawberry Festival anymore. Since the IGA is still called Kimmels or Beck’s depending on which generation is yours, and it’s either Dairy Queen or Zoomies due to the same, the chances of us moving away from our heritage is slim and none.

See … we need to keep the memory of days when twelve year old could work the fields, when the Island’s core commerce was about stuff that came out of the ground or the Sound. As a writer I can hardly be noble about the non-digital. It’s all about the Internet for writers these days baby…

But even if we import the strawberries as frozen slush we need to preserve = pardon the pun= the heritage. I’ve been reading through the history of Vashon book with some of my teenagers. It’s fascinating to know there was a time when the easiest way to get from East to West, or vice versa, on the Island by taking a ferry to Tacoma and then dock at one of the mid Isle ferry locations.

Here’s how heritage works. Every year at Strawberry Festival I run into a Mom I knew when we were both doing coop preschool through North Seattle Community College at Ingraham High School = yes that’s how it’s spelled. I was the teacher and her oldest boy and my oldest boy were creepers in diapers. They’re in their mid thirties. So, Diane usual marches with the Basset Hounds and Donnie is usually somewhere. Isaac hasn’t been to the festival in years so it’s not like the boys run into each other, but Diane and I have a little chat.

Heritage is about remembering where you started. Where did you start? The Island started with Strawberries.

We need to keep it the Strawberry Festival because strawberries are not a botanical berry but an aggregate accessory fruit. = thank you wikipedia. That is so important. That is so us. Aren’t we all just a bunch of aggregate accessory fruits? What better mascot could we have for our little Island?

Wear your red seeds that are almost shaped like hearts proudly! Resist the disconnect. Put me on a waffle, cover me in whip cream and call me delicious.

Love,
Deborah