Out & About #1094 | Strawberry Picking at Downey's Farm

Having been unsuccessful at raspberry picking last year, I was determined to succeed. In order to guarantee achievement of the goal, it was imperative that my browsing partner be omitted from the plans, as deviation and schedule delays would be inevitable otherwise.

My former coworker responded positively to my proposal, and soon we set the June date. Thunderstorms had been predicted early in the week, but eventually shifted to yield only a few afternoon drizzles.
As a consequence, we were able to depart around 11 AM instead of the original plan of 10 AM. Admittedly, both of us were running late anyway.

We resolved to carpool, meeting at my humble abode before heading out. The first stop was Indigo, for it featured bathrooms and an opportunity to check out the newly launched, in-store exclusive Jellycat.
I did not see the maple leaf plushie in the store, thus took my inquiries to the cashier. Apparently, the collectible had been extremely sought after, conjuring a lineup of lawn chairs well before the store opened. Stock was then supposedly depleted within the subsequent thirty minutes - a truly shocking revelation for me.
The plushie sold for just $40 before tax though, which was quite affordable for the renowned toy enterprise.

We then set our for Downey's Strawberry and Apple Farm around 11:30 AM. The fields were located across from Downey's Farm Market, allowing for delineation between the retail component of the business and children's play areas

There were a decent number of visitors on site, though locating parking was not an issue.

A series of fare gates were situated between the sod-gravel lot and picking fields. Queuing in the shorter lineup, we reviewed our basket options:

• 2L for $16
• 4L for $32
• 6L for $48

The unit rate was consistent across the three options, though the farm imposed a minimum purchase of 1L per person. That said, the basket prices included admission fees - unlike the audacious Albion Orchards!

Both of us were seeking a sizable amount for baking (me, of course) and sharing with members of the household, thus the 8L option was chosen.
"We'd like to split the 8L between the two of us." I relayed to the girl inside the wooden booth.
She acknowledged my request gladly and swiftly split the bill on the machine. I hadn't expected card payments to be accepted, nor that bills could be split in such a manner. The cash that had been withdrawn for the event would remain unused.

Entry into the strawberry fields was provided via a tractor. Several tractors traversed between the entry point and strawberry fields, keeping wait times at a minimum.
We hopped on the next tractor to arrive, received a safety briefing from a member of staff ("Please do not stand up while the tractor is in operation!"), and were then on our way.

​For any outdoor activity, I am often dressed to prioritize comfort and mobility. As such, it is always remarkable to witness those that embark on outdoor adventures in long, flowy dresses and strappy sandals that do not provide protection from the elements. Sunscreen and bug spray, gloves, hat, waterproof clothing, and closed-toed waterproof footwear were all critical elements in my books.
​The sole item I wish to have brought along was a mask, for movement of the tractor gave rise to tremendous dust clouds, all of which would be inhaled by its riders.

The strawberry fields were located past the rows upon rows of unripe apple trees. Adopting the format of stout bushes, picking involved squatting and careful navigation between the bushes. In observing red splotches on the underlying patches of hay, it was apparent that some fruit had already been subject to accidental damage.
I did appreciate the cautionary warnings of mothers nearby though: A group with four young children were instructed to tread carefully as opposed to rampaging through the aisles. "Only step on the dry parts! Don't hurt the strawberries!! Don't hurt them!!"

​Our picking began from the edge of the field, with us repositioning the basket every so often to align with our movement patterns.

​The day was hot and humid, but thankfully boasted breeziness. I was particularly grateful for the ominous, overcast skies, for the humidity would have been unbearable with the addition of strong UV rays.

​We succeeded in filling the basket just as the skies began to darken. Wrapping up final picks, a few droplets were felt on the tips of our noses.

I gazed down, realizing the countless juice stains gracing my baby blue UV jacket. My partner-in-crime was safe, having worn black, but I had seemingly been shot all over with pinkish-red bullets.

​There was the option to trek back to the parking lot by foot, but we decided against this route due to the weightiness of the basket and increased risk of dropping strawberries. When the tractor arrived, the seating area was telltale of fallen strawberry soldier, with noticeable red patches underneath our feet. Again avoiding the dust clouds as best as possible, we made our way back to the gravel lot.

​A handful of picnic tables were positioned on site. I soo  learned that Downey's served carnival concessions, such as barebones fries with synthetic gravy. Even more surprised was the sheer sight of visitors ingesting the pasty product.

Of course, we'd take to loading our haul into the trunk instead, paying no attention to the so-called sustenance.

​Across the road was Downey's Farm Market, where we'd also be stopping. Parking was far less tragic than in the fall months: visitor volumes were also more reasonable.
The port-a-potties and handwashing station had shifted to a different section of the farm. We'd pay the former no attention, but opted to wash our hands after strawberry picking.

​In the farm store, we'd each take to a 3L jug of apple cider and Downey's signature Pumpkin Donuts. Observing the batter dispenser work its magic from behind a glass window within the farm store, the distinct aromas of cinnamon were undeniable - and absolutely phenomenal! My partner-in-crime swiftly swooped up a half dozen for each of us. Unlike my first encounter with the sweet treat, the delicate rounds were airy, plush, and gratifying without greasiness. The granulated sugar did not induce condensation in the subsequent days either, leading me to believe that the first exchange was merely a combination of poor storage and bad luck.

​Regrettably, the same could not be said about the cider. Despite having excitedly reached for the 3L jug, the result was a tacky formula exuding the essence of commercialized cider without any of the desired depth. Albion Orchards, while unreasonable in their pricing scheme and average in their apple quality, had boasted the second-best concoction since The Apple Factory. Worst of all, my jug hadn't been properly sealed, thus resulting in a horribly sticky spill in my eco tote and later in the trunk of my car.

​The trip also saw acquisition of Downey's Hard Cider, two original and two Strawberry, and a repurchase of the Apple Crisp table wine I had thoroughly enjoyed.

​Similar to the autumn peak, traffic volumes surged around the early afternoon hours. While I had originally resolved to wait until returning home to use the bathroom, the incessant delays and laughable left-turn queue lengths sent me looping into the nearest Circle K.

Much to my surprise, the interior was spacious with tall ceilings and an intriguing layout. Bathrooms were clearly identified with vibrant orange signage, contrasting against the grey doors with printed signage I had expected. Even more shocking was the sheer cleanliness of the stall. Save a singular dusty, rusty vent, the rest of the facilities were modern and admittedly well-maintained!
Visitors of the gas station outlet were also very polite and friendly, traits I hadn't expected in one of the busiest sections of Brampton.

​I had initially debated heading eastward towards Don Mills for a much-needed Oomomo trip. However, the sticky situation in my trunk required immediate attention. Similar qualms had arisen at seeing my stained jacket. By the point, it was nearing 2 PM.

Taking advantage of this month's SPC x Tim's offer, a Slow-Cooked Chicken Cilantro Lime Loaded Wrap with Cheese and Pineapple Dragon Fruit Lemonade Quencher were secured for $8.79. My partner-in-crime was less accustomed to eating at designated periods of the day settled for a hot Peppermint Tea instead. Truthfully, how one could consume a steaming beverage in the face of humid, dehydrating conditions was beyond me.

The wrap was devoured in the car, with the sound of rain droplets cascading down around us. We paid little attention to the precipitation, being heavily engrossed in our conversations about work, continuing education (definitely not me), and life. Excited exchanges of recent happenings are simultaneously invigorating and restorative. Interestingly, these conversations seem only to take place with those that are not my browsing partner, who refrains from uttering more than four vague sentences at a time and showing any form of strong emotional response.

afternoon hours. The cleanup ordeal was exhausting to tackle single-handedly, and I almost wished to conclude the day as is afterwards. However, our conversations were not yet done. Neither had my partner-in-crime obtained proper sustenance.

Without much of a desire to venture far, I commenced in the direction of the dreaded Ridgeway Plaza, only to learn of her visits being more frequent than my own! After carefully looping about the plaza and taking note of new openings, as well as blind spots, we settled on Matari Coffee.

The café had appeared on my social media feed on several occasions, advertising supposedly delicious offerings at abominable prices. Seeing the menu firsthand, the steep prices were confirmed; I simply couldn't fathom how such a loyal following could be garnered from nine-dollar drinks.

My partner-in-crime was kind enough to offer me a Matcha Latte on her tab, though I politely declined, as the associated costs were simply too much. I shifted towards the refrigerated display case instead, intrigued by some of its constituents. Oddly, none of the labels included their prices.

The cashier's assistance was required for the determination of price. When the Zabid Chocolate Cake was relayed to be $7.99, I quickly pivoted to the $4.99 layered Cinnamon Cake. The former did not appear to be drastically different from the Torta Caprese I had constructed in the past. If anything, the inverted cake appeared sweeter due to its utilization of milk and white chocolate instead of semisweet.

A Matari Chai Latte and Chamool assumed the selection of my partner-in-crime. Appended to the order was the request for a small cup such that I could sample the toasty beverage she had requested.
While she retrieved the order, I obtained glasses of water from the dispensers residing on the condiment stand.

The Matari Chai Latte was revealed to be a lovely shade of pink, topped with finely chopped pistachios and dried rose buds. Its rich aromas were inviting, while the frothy, creamy consistency gustatorily stimulating.
Through my sample cup, I was exposed to a luxurious, lightly perfumed beverage. The concoction was rich and somewhat filling, likely crafted from a base of whole milk. Although successful in conjuring visual interest, the chopped pistachio bits seemed to be incorporated for colour contrast and fragrance rather than taste. Furthermore, the constant need to pause and chew while sipping on the beverage was not very enjoyable. Due to their density, the asymmetrical nut fragments were suspended throughout the cup, interrupting the consumption experience in ways that bubble tea toppings would not have.

Chamool, I learned, was a savoury biscuit brushed with egg wash and sesame seeds lightly pressed on top. The specimen did not exhibit the crispy, flaky qualities I had expected, but embraced a pliable consistency, based on my former coworker's eating tendencies. I did not sample the morsel, but assumed it to be tasty based on depletion speed.

​My own Cinnamon Cake boasted distinct layers of not-quite-sponge, a glossy surface coating, and a handful of pecan halves. The base was dry and dense, a wholly different texture than the layers residing above. The slab almost seemed to be a failed creation, for it contrasted against the lightly spiced, uniform layers on top. There were obvious specks of cinnamon folded into the cake batter, but the creation did not reveal an intense profile of warm spices.
The addition of pecans was appreciated, while the golden-tinged drizzle was discovered not nearly as sweet as its presentation had implied.

​We chatted along the front-facing bar seating, actively engaging until the early evening sunlight became too tragic for our eyes and scalp to bear. I proposed one final stopover at Gong Cha to determine whether Felix merchandise/voiceovers had landed in store. Seeing none, we ventured back towards the car and began the trip home.

​Sticky, hot, and humid, I could barely communicate my farewells before dashing into the air-conditioned house for relief.