I love to tell new people I meet about being a child growing up in Oregon. The fresh air, the unpredictable weather, the child labor force. Before the migrants from Mexico came up to pick strawberries, they sent the children out. School ended in time for berry picking to begin. The bus would pick us up at 6:30 in the morning, luckily we were at the end of the route. We'd unload with our sack lunches and then be assigned a row to work in. I remember sitting with my best friend and chatting the hours away. Mostly daydreaming about what fabulous thing we'd buy with all of the money we were making. We'd work until about 2:00 PM and then they'd take us home. This routine would last about two weeks, three if we were lucky. The last day they'd drive us to Dairy Queen treat us to lunch and ice cream and give us our cash. My grand total, usually a whopping $100. Those were good times. Such a shame the children today can't earn their own living for a couple of weeks.
These memories flooded my mind when I drove past a local u-pick berry farm. There was no doubt what our free Wednesday morning would now include. I knew they'd love it. . . they did. Henry who is Mario Kart obsessed sums it up best, "Mom, I even enjoyed this more than Mario." Of course he did!
In all of my excitement to be the first ones at the farm (I wanted them to have the thrill of putting their chilled hands into the dewey leaves), I left my camera at home! Such a bummer. However, here is a record of our loot. We managed to eat half of those berries fresh! Including two strawberry pies. The other half is now some very delicious strawberry jam.
2 comments:
Ohh, those were the days. I think I only did it one day so I really can't say, but I do remember that day VERY well.
I remember he stained fingers, the "eat-the-slug-in-the-berry" crazy people. People making out in the rows. Strawberry shampoos when someone got in a fight. The outhouses. YUCK! Turning in your flat and them telling you it's not full enough. Oh such fond memories!
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