Karin and I tried our hand at balcony gardening this year, plunking a handful of plants onto our already-cramped three-foot by eight-foot suspended extrusion from the suite. While our tomatoes have yet to redden, I picked the first of the strawberries this morning, a single ruby-red gem delicately hanging from the lonesome plant, which Karin and I promptly shared before wandering out the doors to our respective jobs. Unlike those imported imitators whose first bite reveals a steroid-induced expansion of white flavorless innards, our single berry was a solid mass of dripping red bittersweet tartness, that we not only grew ourselves, but tasted really great for it.

Now I wish I had a yard.

On that same subject, I wandered down to Granville Island yesterday, picked up a tastey plate of battered salmon and chips, meandered around the market, and purchased some farm-honey and peaches from the farm-truck sale out in the parking lot. Very cool. I brought my camera, but didn’t actually use it. I was too busy eating, apparently.