I picked strawberries every year to earn money toward my school clothes. I know some kids that picked circles around me but I earned enough to buy the bulk of my clothes except for my coats and shoes. It was hard getting up so early and getting on the berry bus(old school buses)at the break of dawn. We were on the field at daylight, bent over or on your knees take your choice. Neither is my preferred mode of transportation. I was not cleanest picker either. Sometimes there was dirt in the boxes and stems not completely removed. So I would get talked to by the owners and told to please be more careful. Oh it was hard work even for a kid or teen. My mother and I would pick together when regular picking season ended. We would glean whatever was left in the fields for jam and pies.
I still have a memory of being so hot in the field with sticky red fingers,itchy,sweaty skin, hair hanging in my face,the knees of my pants dirt caked and sometimes the seat of them when I was younger and tended to scoot along on my butt when I got tired. I looked so forward to that whistle blowing for lunch break. The afternoons were agony the hours seems to drag with each berry that was placed in a box. No one even talked on the bus home, we were just so tired. When I got home the first thing I did of course was head to bathroom to fill the tub. Oh how I wished for a shower but all we had was a bathtub. So I filled it with the hottest water I could tolerate and lots of soap and I would soak myself clean. Of course my hands throughout the season were always stained. After bathing I then had the gritty ringed tub to contend with. I was always so happy on the last day of picking and we would quit early and the owners of the berry field would have a picnic for us. Lots of food like fried chicken, salads, sandwiches and desserts. It was always a happy day on the bus that last day. Lots of laughter and chatter and everyone sharing how much they had made for the season. The goal was a $100 for most of us. Some made more some less.
My daughter went to the berry fields when she was in eighth grade and we were living near Mt. Rainier in the little berg of Eatonville Wa. The bus picked her up at dawn and off she went with her gal pals excited for this adventure. She came home aghast. She exclaimed you would will not believe it! You are treated like slaves. Crawling around on your hands and knees picking berries. They blow a whistle when it is time for lunch! I laughed at her outrage and made her go the next day. As soon as she got home the next day she came through the door and stated she had quit! So that was Gina my little two day berry picker.
Well it seems I always have a story no matter what the subject.
I must go now and walk before the days wears on and my back wears out.
Have a nice Friday and weekend. We are joining family for dinner this evening so no cooking at this house.
Bye for now.
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