three hundred sixty seven

I WAS A CHILD LABOR FARM WORKER

Every spring when the school year finished we had a long three month summer ahead of us. As the final bell rang it was like being released from prison. No report cards or teachers to worry about and nothing but play and adventure ahead of us.

Our parents didn't arrange play dates or child care. The neighborhood parents kept an eye on all of us. They would give us water, felt free to scold us and at times discipline us. Mostly we were completely unsupervised until dark. We took time outs to sneak a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or whatever we could find unguarded in the kitchen. We only bothered parents if an injury required a dentist or stitches.  

One thing we did need was our own money because there was no candy anywhere other then the neighborhood store. We collected pop bottles, raked leaves, pulled weeds and cleaned up trash. A run to the local store became an opportunity to keep the change, or steal what ever we were sent for and keep the money. 

I could not steal things because my one attempt to steal candy cured me, well for awhile. On a trip to the A&P with my mother I boosted what I thought was a bar of chocolate. I tried to eat it but it was bitter and disgusting. It was dark cooking chocolate, I was sure God took all of the sweet out because it was stolen.  

The local news paper would post ads for strawberry pickers. There were several farmers who had good sized strawberry fields that needed picked. They had their own roadside markets and supplied the area stores. Because strawberries ripen fairly quickly it was necessary to hire part time workers.

The season was only a couple weeks long so every kid was anxious to make as much money as possible. They would meet us at 7 am in front of the Masonic Temple, fill their pickup trucks with kids and head for their farms. No parents permission slips or age requirements, just show up. Our parents only knew we were picking strawberries and would be back around three o'clock.

No seat belts or guard rails, the older kids would stand up looking forward over the roof. The farmer would yell at us to sit down with the threat of making us walk.

We  would get in the fields while the dew was still on the plants and pick until early afternoon. They didn't want to feed us but they did give us water, usually out of a garden hose.

Everyone was on their best behavior the first few days, we were there to make money. They gave you a card with your name on it and every time you picked a rack that was six quarts, you got one punch. They complained if they weren't piled high. I saw older boys steal racks off of younger boys, usually a younger brother and get their own card punched. 

Usually the farmer would yell at kids that weren't picking all of the ride strawberries in the row. He would warn us about eating any strawberries or we would be fired. No one could resist eating a few.

 

Like most kids after the third or fourth day we got tired of picking. The crews got smaller but a lot of kids got fired. I got fired almost every summer. Once I got caught having a strawberry fight, I hit the farmer in the back of the head. I had made a strategic error I was the only one picking the row behind him. He said "boy, go sit by the truck" I was done for that season. 

The next day if I picked I just went to a different farm. By the following year we grew enough they didn't recognize us but this farmer remembered me, I must have made an impression. 

The punch they used was not the standard round hole, they were different shapes and used a different one each day. One kid brought a whole set of the same punch tools that his father had. A couple extra punches may have worked but he went crazy and filled the whole card by ten o'clock then asked for another card, busted.

Fresh Ohio strawberries are awesome. Most strawberries are shipped in from who knows where. Fresh vine ripened strawberries grown in rich cow manure fertilized soil are the best. 

Today the same farms are all pick your own. Parents worry more today and have a habit of suing. In my opinion kids are missing out on a valuable experience. Some of the farmers were kind and very patient but most just wanted their strawberries picked. They would sound mean to some kids and I saw a few kids cry. They weren't being unfair or mean it was usually the kid's first real job. 

Doing a half hearted job of pulling weeds, raking leaves or shoveling snow would get you a quarter and a cookie from the nice old couple in our neighborhood, but farmers were paying for real work. That was a shock to some kids. Thankfully my dad gave me a head start on that one.  

I don't remember any kids getting hurt picking strawberries we could accomplish that on our own. One kid's little brother fell out of the truck at a stop light. He didn't get hurt until he got back in the truck and his brother punched him for falling out.

If you picked a lot you could make as much as thirty dollars or more. That would keep you in candy, baseball cards, soda pop and maybe buy a baseball or football. For a few hours we felt rich until our parents made us put it in the bank. 

Eventually summers would end and we had to wear shirts and shoes again. Long boring school days and snow but we did have a habit of finding mischief.