Once a year, everyone I know becomes a farmer. They plan ahead, pack a picnic, grab a hat and head to a farm to pick strawberries. Flats fill up with the sweet fruit you don’t eat in the field, people gain a little appreciation for farm workers after spending the day hunched over, and we all end up making big berry plans and dreaming sweet berry dreams. Mostly though, people go home, gorge on fresh berries and/or make jam.