Strawberry Patch

Grandpa and I were finally going berry picking! I’d been waiting all spring. I could almost taste those juicy, ripe strawberries in my mouth. I could hardly keep from smiling as we drove out to the country.

We parked next to a sign that read “Large, Juicy Strawberries! Pick All You Want!” and then walked up to a booth to pay for picking. I tried to get a peek at the strawberries, but the field was too far away.

“Do you want to pay by the hour or by the pail?” asked the man at the window.

“By the hour,” Gramps said.

“$20.00 each,” said the man.

“That’s awfully expensive, isn’t it?” Grandpa asked.

“Trust me, it’s worth it,” said the man. “If you’re not satisfied within the first few minutes, come back to me. I’ll refund all your money.” We looked at him strangely, but then shrugged and paid him. He pointed where to go, and we started walking towards the field.

As we got closer, I still couldn’t see strawberries. “Grandpa,” I asked. “Why did he send us to a melon patch?”

“Melon patch? What are talking about?” He turned to look. “Those aren’t melons. They’re strawberries! And they’re huge!” We ran up to the closest one and found that, indeed, it was a strawberry the size of a watermelon.

“Well,” said Grandpa. “That man was right. We are definitely going to get our money’s worth!”