Strawberry Memory

Last night I had a spoonful of strawberry gelato as it was coming out of the freezing machine, and my mind exploded with memories of my Grandma Pete's strawberry icecream. As a little girl, I spent strawberry season at her house, where we picked the berries in the hot field, and then swam all afternoon at the pond. We ate strawberries at least 3 times a day, and made jam every other day. I had forgotton about the ice cream until the taste memory came rushing back last night. I remember peeking into the refrigerator where the custard was cooling, and wondering how that could possibly turn into ice cream. There are some vague memories of going to the ice house with my grandfather to get a big chunk of ice, and then chopping it up and putting it in the hand crank ice cream maker, and taking turns cranking until our little arms couldn't move the crank any more. But the taste of that ice cream is the most vivid recollection of all, smooth but with the little seeds and sometimes a little chunk of red, and pale, creamy pink swirls. Not surprisingly, Jay's strawberry gelato tastes just as good.