Picking Strawberries Letter Box
(Memories of my sister & I)
We would get up at 4AM and be in the patch before sunrise. Sometimes the patch would be muddy from rain or irrigation and mornings were always very cold that time of year. We would start our day all bundled up, shivering and determined to out-pick one another only earn a few cents a basket, maybe 5 cents,like 20 cents a crate, it wasn't very much. It was very hard work for what you got. I can see why they have to hire migrant labor to do such work now days.
In the grey light before dawn, it was hard to see if the berries were red or not. It was easy to pick unripe berries then; had to be real careful or you'd get a chewing out from the grown-up "Patch Bosses" one of whom was Mama. I can still see the dark damp earth between the rows of plants; see the earthworms wriggling in the early morning light; see the dew heavy on the strawberries leaves, leaves that hid clusters of berries of varying size and ripeness; see the shadowy figures of kids working their way up the rows. Everyone started together, but like runners in a race, soon the faster pickers took the lead and the slow pickers straggled behind.
I can still feel the chill in the air; feel the mooshy earthy wetness on my knees as I knelt; feel the weight of dried mud on my Levis as the day progressed; feel the dampness in my clothes; I can feel the cold that slowly gave way to comfort and then to sweaty, stifling heat as the sun moved higher in the sky. Sunrise over the mountains was always spectacular and very welcome. Being close to the mountains meant the sun would wash across the valley first. I'd often stand to see where the shadows ended, watching anxiously as the light and warmth crept slowly upon the strawberry patch. The sun never felt better to me than when it finally bathed me with its rays on those mornings, a wonderful feeling!
I can still smell the musty odors of the patch in early morning and the almost rancid fruity odors brought out by noontime sun. I can smell the mold, the sweat, the manure and other odors from the farm. I can still smell the stinkbugs. I can feel the bugs and grasshoppers, all the little creatures both real and imagined, crawling on me, making me shudder. I can feel the dirt clods and the strawberries that were thrown at me. I can feel the thrust of my arm as I threw them back. I can also feel the cringe in my spine when I got caught and was scolded for that same mischief. I can still feel all the body aches from stooping, bending and squatting. Ouch.! I can feel how good it was to stand to stretch. Awe!!
I can still taste the strawberries, ripe and cool and juicy, with a flavor that cannot be duplicated today. Is it just my imagination? Maybe. Perhaps they tasted so very good to me because they were eaten in a setting that made them , as Emerson Essay's, a part of the"Perfect Whole".
I never could pick as fast as my younger sister could. When Mama was a girl, she'd had a reputation for being a fast picker and my sister worked at doing the same. Even when I was keeping up with her which, by the way, took a maximum of effort on my part, I still never managed to beat her. One reason was that she would go back out into the patch and glean if necessary, in order to get at least a half-cup more than me. She just couldn't stand to let me win, not even once. I can't say that I blame her, but I sure didn't like it. Mom was constantly on my back about how "Good a worker" sister was and would ask me"What is wrong with you, ? You are just too darned slow and lazy!".
Lunch time was welcome too, sitting by the creek eating sack lunches with a dessert of strawberries if we hadn't already had our fill; splashing water to cool off and then ending up in free-for-all water fights, teasing and being teased, wading in the creek, " Crik", and catching water snakes; climbing trees; running around and playing games. Lunchtime was by far the best part of the day.
We rarely worked much past 2pm because of the heat and the fact that we were bored, tired, and more than anxious to quit. Work slowed and horsing around escalated in the afternoons. I think the adults just gave up by then. They were probably tired too and had many other things they had to do.
Coming here today, July, 2010 to plant this box, brings back a flood of memories, and what an appropriate day, too. After all, we usually managed to spend at least $2 of our hard earned money on the 4th of July. Wow!
Looking back now, I'm grateful for the entire experience and I do cherish all of it; the sleepy awakenings; the cold and chilly-damp; the stink bugs, flies and assorted beetles; the moldy or water-soaked or just plain juicy and delicious berries; Mama working along side us and pushing us on with her jabs and grating voice; the race, the chase, the determination and the futility: all of the aching muscles and sunburn; the scrapes, cuts and bruises, all of it. It is a package that cannot be put together in today's world. Too bad! I do know quite a few who could benefit from a package like that. I know I did.
The creek is still here along with a few out buildings and the old house is too, but all has changed so much. The strawberry patch which took up acres, was on the north of the old house and is now broken up into homes and yards. I stand and look out over the scene and I know that ---no matter the changes ----I will always see Strawberry Fields FOREVER!
CLUES
