You know you're pretty far-removed from your Peasant Lineage when you're thinking about taking your kid to a farm as a field trip. That's right. I'm almost embarrassed to say it, but we're taking Mali Zub, The Third Generation, to a strawberry-picking festival this weekend at a local farm that we, gasp, have absolutely no connection to.
Well, that's not exactly right. It's a farm that we joined for the summer in order to get fresh fruits and vegetables. Community supported agriculture, for youse citified folks out there who are looking to do something similar.
Pretty crazy, when you consider that a generation ago, my poor parents were out in similar fields, good days or bad, tending and harvesting the fields so they'd have something to eat. And here we are, white-collar workers who're too busy to even plant vegetable gardens in our backyards. (Well, we used to, but a rather large family of garter snakes seems to have taken over back there....)
Makes you feel kind of guilty, doesn't it? And I'm not even a Catholic, I swear. Although I must have been one in a past life.