Strawberries, Reminiscences of Robert Hodge – Story 7 of 10 This is the seventh in a series of stories that Robert Hodge wrote in the 1980s about his childhood experiences growing up in Lawrence.
“As my mind searches through the file of innumerable experiences stored there, it most frequently pauses at the one wherein is recorded the several seasons of strawberry picking I experienced as a youth.
“My father had three acres of land planted in this tri-foliated plant, cultivated in long rows with narrow aisles. The income from this spring crop was needed to pay taxes on the land.
“About Easter time each year, bales and bales of straw were broken open and scattered over the field so that the late April blossoms would push up through the straw bed to expose their whiteness like a late spring snow.
“During the coming month, the flowers would develop into clusters of fruit, protected from the sandy soil beneath by the straw layer, and would slowly ripen, one berry one day, another the next day until by the middle of June all had ripened.
“As the ripening season began, I, along with other members of my family, would be awakened by an alarm-clock roused parent before the dawn was much more than gray.
“Breakfast was eaten, a wooden carrier would be fitted with six one-quart boxes made of thin white wood. Down on the knees into the narrow aisle we would go, up the row and back down another, picking one-half of each row on either side of the aisle (to avoid having to straddle the row), trying in the dawn’s dim light to detect the really red from the notyet- red and wishing the dew was not so cold.
“Knees hurting, backs aching, pant legs soppy wet, pick, pick, pick, breaking off each berry with a stem about one-half inch long to prevent the fruits from dehydrating before being carried to market.
“As the sun rose, the boxes filled nearly to the brim were given the final touch—that of “topping.” This technique was one of turning all the green caps and stems downward as the boxes were slightly heaped, making sure the stems were tucked among the lower berries so that the top of the box displayed only red berries. Some chose to top with only the largest berries!
“Up the rows, down the rows, picking, aching, topping, freezing, burning, emptying, filling until the light was too dim to allow red to be detected from green, then to bed to await the morrow—another day of picking strawberries.”
