Strawberries

Summary

The article discusses a unique phenomenon where unusually warm rain leads to drunken and moldy strawberries in a northern Swedish strawberry field, as observed by the author's mother.

Abstract

The author describes a peculiar situation in northern Sweden where an unexpected rise in temperature, coupled with warm rain, causes the strawberries in the author's mother's field to become overly intoxicated and susceptible to mold. This occurrence is set against the backdrop of the rapid growth cycle characteristic of the region's vegetation, which is accelerated by the midnight sun of June. The strawberries, typically resilient to cold and rain, are unprepared for the tropical-like conditions, leading to their rapid fermentation and mold growth, much to the dismay of the author's mother. The incident is framed within the context of the unique climate of northern Sweden, where the long days and short nights of June contribute to a frenetic pace of life and growth.

Opinions

The author's mother is portrayed as diligent and invested in her strawberry field, as she is the one who surveys the damage caused by the warm rain.
The author seems to have a fondness for the Walpurgis Night celebration, suggesting it is a significant and cherished memory.
The author implies that the strawberries' reaction to the warm rain is almost human-like, describing them as becoming "drunk" and lacking "defenses" or "precedent" to handle such conditions.
The mold's rapid spread is personified, suggesting it is actively teaching the strawberry field a lesson, indicating a sense of irony or humor in the face of agricultural challenge.
There is an underlying tone of amazement at the resilience of northern Swedish vegetation, which is described as being on a different biological clock, thriving under the constant daylight of June.

Drunk and Moldy

Warm rain Strawberries too drunk to care mold away She surveys damage

t’s my mom doing the surveying. In the summer, she grew strawberries for sale. Rains, when they came, and it was often, were never warm and the strawberries lapped it all up and grew, pleased as anything.

Perhaps this is a northern Sweden phenomenon.

Let me explain: We celebrate Walpurgis Night on the 30th of April each year with huge bonfires. I bet you can actually make them out from space: a whole country lit up and warming itself around thousands and thousands of large fires. And the reason I bring this up (other than as a sweet memory) is that the field where we always built our bonfire was still (at least partially) snow-covered at the end of April and into early May.

And so was Mom’s strawberry field, snow here and there, though not very deep, the days getting longer and warmer.

And here comes June, and all of a sudden, the sun no longer seems to set and delirious grass, happy, happy, happy and growing, growing, growing so fast that it’d push you over if you stand in one spot too long.

Northern Sweden vegetation is on its own, very different clock; lives by the rapid beat of a very different (always awake) drummer: It’s almost like the starter’s pistol sounds on the first of June, and from there on the race is on.

And that includes strawberries.

A hardy stock, our strawberries. What’s a little rain? What’s a little cold? It’s never going to freeze in June, the non-setting sun is making sure of that. And the rains that do fall are greeted with shouts and pleasure and more and speedier growth.

Except this one day, this one long day or two when the temperature rose and rose as if possessed by some tropical demon, and the rain that did fall was bath-tub warm (almost) and the strawberries had no idea what to do with this, no defenses, no prior experience, no precedent, and so they drank and drank and drank this warm, intoxicating rain to about three or more sheets into the wind, and then nearly exploded from the sloth of it all.

Mold could not believe its luck. Dreamed-of conditions. Set out to teach the strawberry field a lesson or two.

Mom was not a happy mom.

Strawberries

Drunk and Moldy

Wolfstuff

So, who am I? Really really. I could tell you that I was born in northern Sweden during a snow storm, and subsequently…