It was the Edwardian dandy, Max Beerbohm (“The incomparable Max” as George Bernard Shaw dubbed him), who wrote: “Strawberries picked from a sunny, dew kissed meadow never taste as good as those bought at the greengrocer.” HG has always loved Max’s talents as a theater critic, essayist, novelist and caricaturist. His prose is elegance personified. He was very much an urban (and urbane) man. Loved London though he spent much of his life in a tiny house perched on an Italian coastal hilltop. Of course, his comment about berries, though cynically amusing, is totally wrong. HG thought about incomparable Max yesterday. A strange day on Prince Edward Island. Short bursts of rain and then breezy, briny calm. Perfect for strolling on the paths cut through neighboring land generously contributed to a nature conservancy by HG/BSK’s kind neighbors, Chuck and Gloria P. The bushes are adorned with blueberries and raspberries, Accompanied by Toby, The Wonder Dog, HG strolled and munched. The raspberries HG picked were, like Max, incomparable. Full of juice and pungent sweetness. (BSK and EM had been blueberry picking the day before. Kind souls, they left the raspberries for HG). The fickle weather patterns provided both a spectacular, best ever sunset but an early evening rainbow. The sight enthralled the family as they dined on clams Posillipo (quahogs steamed with tomatoes, olive oil, garlic and hot pepper flakes) and South Lake scallops, seared briefly and then mixed with fresh garden greens. While eating the succulent bivalves, HG thought about a comment of Beerbohm’s on dining in restaurants: “A restaurant dinner always tastes better when someone else is paying.”
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