Eat Your Strawberries (and lardo)

This post starts back in sixth grade at Outdoor Ed. Just weeks into the school-year and new to the bigger environment of William H. Crocker middle school, they took us all to small compound called Jone's Gulch in the redwood forests just above Half-Moon Bay.

We went on nature walks, slept on bunk-beds in cabins, spent time alone with trees, writing in our journals, and ate highly questionable cafeteria food. The week amounted to one of the most significant experiences of my life at that point, and I still have vivid memories of the time spent there. Early on, our cabin leader for the week (they hired young, crunchy UC Santa Cruz graduates as camp counselors), told us a parable I will never forget. It goes like this:

A young man is chased by his enemies. He runs until his lungs burn, holding them off until he comes to a cliff and finds himself trapped. He hears the footsteps of these armed, ruthless men approaching and decides to scramble down the cliff instead of surrendering to his hated foes.

He works his way over the edge and begins to lower himself down the cliff, but his footing gives out and he slips. The young man nearly falls to his death but he saves himself by grabbing a protruding root. He holds onto the root and rests against the side of the cliff, breathing heavily and listening to his enemies shuffle about above, looking for the young man.

He knows not if his enemies will find him. He knows not how strong the root is that holds him, and he knows not how long he can cling to the side of this cliff. Then the young man looks to where the root pushes out from the rock of the cliff and he notices a wild strawberry plant has somehow managed to grow out from the same crack. A plump, ruby-red, ripe strawberry hangs from the plant within his reach.

The young man contemplates this strawberry, adjusts his grip on the root, and then uses all his strength to reach out and pluck it. With his enemies above, certain death below, and no sure way of climbing back up, the young man examines the strawberry and then bites all the juicy red flesh off the stem.

This is the juiciest, ripest, most flavorful strawberry the young man has ever tasted. Bright, sweet, tangy, and fragrant, the taste overwhelms him and juice runs down his chin. Nothing has ever tasted so good to him.

Our cabin-leader told us this story, and then throughout the week, whenever we asked her what came next, when lunch would be, or what we do tomorrow, she would just tell us: "Eat your strawberries." She wanted us to live in the moment, let every experience fully soak in, without concern for the immediate future interfering.

Eat your lardo.

The story still has relevance, especially for me and my classmates. With only two more months of class left, we soon have to leave this wonderful little bubble we have around us. Going to school here has suspended the reality of all of our lives, allowing us to learn, taste, and experience without much interference.

But the future is creeping in. Soon, we leave, and reality awaits us all, not-unlike the young man's enemies on the cliff. Most of us are feeling uncertain about what lies ahead.

Yet, we still have two months here! Three more weeks of study-trips! Five more free weekends. Most of us are planning to travel some more after graduating. We have plenty of strawberries before us to enjoy.

Making plans is fine. Looking ahead is great. But right now, we have to eat our strawberries. The future will be there for us when it comes.