At the beginning of June the paths and clearings were carpeted in thousands of tiny white blossoms, but we were kept away from the berries by swarms of black flies. At the end of August, a single wild strawberry blossom appears on the path, minus one of its petals. I don’t know whether it is this little plant’s second attempt at making a strawberry, or whether it just wasn’t mature enough in the spring to produce a flower. Whichever the case, and however misshapen the berry, I will pick and eat it with gratitude.