We are coming into my favorite time of the year – fresh fruits and vegetables season!  I am just so tired of seeing produce from New Zealand and tomatoes from Florida.  I want stuff grown and raised locally!  Or, at least, on this continent.

I know I’m getting old when I lament the fact that one can buy fresh strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, etc., 365 days a year.  I remember as a kid biting into those first strawberries of the season, the first peaches, watermelon…Biting into a juicy peach and having the juice run down your arm.  Being a sticky mess – but it was okay.

It was gastronomical magic.

Food is so taken for granted, today.  We have everything available every day.  The only thing lacking is flavor.   We’ve paid a price to have blueberries in December and blackberries in February.  Not just the ridiculous environmental cost.  They’re flavorless.  Produce is now grown for shipping and storage – not flavor and eating.

Bah.  Humbug.

So I’m bah humbug-ing but just made a salad that literally came from around the world.  The cheese was from Italy.  The beef from the midwest, lettuces and strawberries from California, tomatoes from Canada.  Pineapple from Costa Rica, blackberries from Mexico.  I have no idea where the watermelon came from – probably California.  The only thing local were the Pennsylvania eggs.  The olive oil and vinegar came from Italy, as well.

Evidently, I’m a bit of a hypocrite.

I can always say that if it wasn’t there I wouldn’t buy it, but… it is there.  And my not buying it isn’t going to change that.

I think what I really miss is the anticipation.  Seeing the first strawberries of the season come in and having to wait – because we never bought the first ones.  They weren’t ready.  And kids today will never know the joy of that first really ripe and perfect plum.  How as the months rolled along we went from one fruit to another – having your fill and then moving on to the next. With everything available all of the time, nothing is special, anymore.  It’s all the same.

So I guess I’ll just be my normal crotchety self and bitch and moan about the good old days.

The reality is, of course, they weren’t always all that great.

But the peaches were.