My Strawberry Days: Living in the Heart of a Garden

I don’t just eat strawberries — I grow them, love them, talk to them. To me, they’re not just fruit; they’re the first living things I want to see when I wake up in the morning, my companions when I need an escape during the day, and tiny miracles that calm my soul with the scent of soil at night. It may sound a little romantic, but my relationship with my strawberries goes far beyond simply planting a seed. It’s a much deeper bond.

My garden is small. Some might even say “tiny.” But in my heart, it holds the space of a forest. In one sunny corner of my garden, my strawberries grow. Sometimes, I greet them in the early morning, dewdrops still clinging to their leaves. Other times, I sit in the shade they create during the golden hours of the afternoon. As my hands meet the soil, a peace begins to rise within me—a quiet stillness that’s hard to describe.

Growing strawberries has opened the door to a whole new world for me. I started with seeds. So small in my palm, yet full of enormous hope. I remember thinking, “Will it work this time?” I carefully worked the soil, breathing in its earthy scent. It was moist, warm, alive—almost like it was excited too. I dug little holes, gently placed each seed inside with love, covered them, and gave them their first drink of water. And that’s when the real story began: patience.

The first few weeks, nothing appears. I started to wonder if I had done something wrong. But then, one morning, a tiny sprout emerged from the soil. My eyes welled with tears. That small green shoot washed away all my doubts. Because I knew I wasn’t alone anymore. As I nurtured them, they were nurturing me.

At first glance, taking care of strawberries might seem easy. But they have their own language. The tone of their leaves, the moisture in the soil, the angle of the sunlight, the timing of watering—each sends a message. Over time, you learn to understand them. Which one is thirsty, which one has had too much sun, which roots aren’t comfortable. When you touch them, they tell you how they feel. It’s like understanding a person—if you listen, you’ll know.

This journey has also taught me a lot about myself. My impatience, my neglect at times, even my tendency to interfere too much. You learn not to try to control nature, but to live in harmony with it. To step back, to listen, to wait. And when those red, gleaming fruits finally appear, it’s like a celebration inside me. I almost don’t want to pick the first one — it’s so beautiful, so delicate. But eventually, I give in. I taste it. And in that moment, I know it was all worth it.

One of my favorite moments is harvesting the strawberries with my family. We turn into kids again, laughing and calling out to one another. My mother says, “This one’s perfect for jam.” My father silently picks one and pops it into his mouth. Laughter fills the air. Everything in the garden feels more alive that day.

Strawberry cakes are another celebration at our house. Especially in the middle of summer, when I make a light sponge cake topped with fresh strawberries from the garden. As I lay them gently on the cream layer, they almost seem to say, “Well done.” Knowing the ingredients, having grown them yourself, is a different feeling. You taste the effort, the patience, the love in every bite.

In the rush of life, we often forget the small things. But strawberries remind me to slow down. To quietly watch a leaf trembling in the breeze. To notice an ant climbing a berry. To inhale the smell of soil after rain. These may seem like little things, but for my soul, they are blessings. The time I spend in the garden is like therapy. A kind of meditation.

Sometimes I get visitors. Neighbors come to see the garden and talk about how sweet the strawberries are. Children eagerly pick berries with shining eyes. In those moments, I realize this is not just my happiness — it’s something I’ve shared. It’s become a joy that grows with others, too.

The world we live in is noisy, fast, and often exhausting. But a small strawberry patch can slow you down, ground you. It helps me feel my roots. It reminds me of who I am and what truly makes me happy. This may not be a career, but it’s definitely a way of life. A choice. A return to the earth, a yearning for simplicity, a search for essence.

Someday, I dream of growing a bigger strawberry garden. Maybe in a quiet village, in front of a stone house. I imagine opening my door to the scent of strawberries in the morning, birds singing softly in the background. Above all, I imagine a life that’s natural, sincere, and real.

Strawberries don’t just offer me fruit; they give me hope, peace, and a connection to myself. With them, I feel whole. And I know that life is really made of these small moments. Watching the sunset with a strawberry in hand might say more than a thousand books ever could: “You are here, and you are alive.”