Gads, this sounds wonderful! I picked berries two years here in western
Washington, once when I was fifteen and again at age eighteen. The first time
was on a raspberry farm (now the site of a rather dreary housing development)
where we were required to be on the job at four in the morning as it was to that
point the wettest year we'd ever had. If we didn't pick the berries before
sun-up, chances were they'd be moldy by noon. I made more than many simply
because, since I don't like raspberries, everything I picked went into my
baskets rather than any into my stomach. I think I got about fifteen dollars by
the end of a month's labor, when I had to quit because we were headed for
Arkansas to see the grandparents. We didn't start picking until after the
Fourth due to the berries not ripening because of the lousy weather. The rain
went with us, allowing sunny summer days in August for the first time that year
and breaking droughts all across the western United States.
I preferred the year I picked blueberries. The summer was drier, and one didn't
get absolutely soaked and full of berry prickles as one did with raspberries,
and the farmer actually paid us more than five cents a basket. It certainly
makes me appreciate the migrant workers who do this service for us.
Bonnie L. Sherrell
Teacher at Large
"Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very
wise cannot see all ends." LOTR
"Don't go where I can't follow."
We gave the Goblin King control of our nation!