When I was a little girl, each June, shortly after school was out, My mom would amp us up for a trip to Biringer Farm.  Biringer Farm was our local, u-pick strawberry field.  When I say Biringer Farm, I’ll bet you anything anyone from my generation or right around it who grew up in Marysville can conjure up memories of that place.  In the 70’s and 80’s, it was the place that kids 13 and up could find a summer job.

Both of my brothers worked the fields day after day, riding their bikes to work to collect their $1.00 per flat, or whatever the going rate was.  Me?  I waited until I was 19 to work the fields.  I had the good fortune of being a row boss and worked with the migrant workers who came from miles and miles around to earn $1.50 per flat.  By that time, child labor laws had made it hard for the younger kids to work the fields, and those who did show up were quickly discouraged by the small pay, long hours and they would pick 2-3 flats before they would take their half a day earnings of $7.00 or so and hit the DQ on the way home.

But I digress.  When I was a really little girl my mom would rally us to the fields, each with a flat and a basket in our hands.  We would pick the strawberries doggedly – for about ten minutes.  Then the whining would start, “Are we done yet?  Can we go?  How many berries do we NEED?!”  My mom would patiently answer our questions and continue picking as quickly as she could before WE started picking at one another.

She brought drinks and sandwiches and invented games for us to play.  We were surly, I am sure, and drank our drinks and ate our sandwiches while whining, I am certain.  My poor mom!  Finally she would determine that we had enough.  We would load our many many flats of berries – I think she usually picked 5-6 flats or so – and we would hop back onto the trolley and to the barn to pay.  Upon arriving home my mom would become a whirling dervish, processing strawberries for jam, for shortcake and for freezing whole.  We were strawberry supplied for the entire year, thanks to my mom’s forethought.

It occurred to me recently that I have never given my own kids the opportunity to visit a farm in the summer.  We usually do the fall/pumpkin/corn thing, but had never visited a working farm.  Given my own background, it seemed shameful that we had never been to one and we made a goal to pick some berries this summer.  Yesterday, we met that goal!

Gigi loved the farm.  Upon stepping out of the car she started talking about the wide open spaces, the clean air, and even the manure smelled clean!  She was so cute.  She has been reading the Little House books again and I can hear Laura’s words coming out of her mouth.It makes me love her even more, if that is possible.

Jude, for his part, took after me.  He spent a good 3-4 minutes picking berries and then it devolved into being an army guy (a hut-hut, as he calls them) and he was protecting us, I believe.  Whatever it was, it wasn’t picking berries!

Unlike my mom, our goal was not to be terribly industrious, rather to experience what a farm is, to see where food comes from.  Gigi wanted shortcake and a batch of jam, so we made that our goal and picked until we felt like we had enough.

We met our goals,with the shortcake and the jamand the yum yum yum, but the very best was Gigi proclaiming at the end of the day that this was THE BEST DAY OF SUMMER EVER!  Three days in and she has said that every day.  I think that is an even better goal to have met!

• BROWSE / IN TIMELINE
• « Bittersweet
• » Feral

• BROWSE / IN Tamara
• « Bittersweet
• » Feral