Bonnie,
Both my sisters and I spent our summers during high school, picking.
We picked beans, strawberries, raspberries, and I did a couple of
years picking pie cherries. My poor little sister ate more than she
put in the baskets, and she was invited by several farmers to not
bother coming out again. But I could earn between ten and fifteen
dollars a day picking beans and strawberries. I think I did about the
same with the raspberries and pie cherries, but I don't really
remember. I know that beans paid us 2.5 cents a pound and the baskets
held around 30 pounds. That meant if I earned $15 a day, I'd have to
pick about 20 baskets. I think I never did that. I do recall picking
15 baskets more often than anything else. But it was healthy exorcise
for youngsters. A gang of us came out from Ballard, and we met up
with a gang from West Seattle. We became really good friends, in fact
I dated two different girls for a time. Funny, I don't recall any of
the guys.
We left at 4:00 in the morning, and rode the bus to the Sears parking
lot on South Lander Street. There we chose which bus or truck we
would try to board, along with our West Seattle friends. One thing I
do remember, if we didn't bring our own water, tough luck. We would
reach the field by 6:00 at the latest, and pick until noon. Because
we were having fun, as well as working, we took at least an hour
lunch. We had good healthy fun. In fact, I do believe that the first
girl I ever kissed was Jeanette, from West Seattle. Since I didn't
see well enough to drive, traveling by bus to West Seattle from
Ballard to pick up a date, got to be a real grind. Besides, Jeanette
replaced me somewhere along the way with "Mister Wonderful". Ah, so
sad. But the memories linger, along with the feel of her kisses.
Carl Jarvis
On 7/4/17, Bonnie L. Sherrell <blslarner@xxxxxxxxxx> wrote:
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!