"Strawberries 359-FARM" reads the sign attached to the front of the rural kiosk. It anchors a mall without walls where people pick the juicy red fruit and then pay for the privilege of doing so. Oh, but they're paying for the strawberries you say. Not really. They're paying to spend some time underneath Heaven's blue vault. The strawberries, though tasty, are ancillary to the mission of reuniting ourselves to the earth from which we came.