As kids on the farm we had to work. Weed the garden, hoe the corn, sucker the tobacco, feed the hogs and on and on in what seemed never ending tasks. All this without pay. The family was an economic unit.
Except during strawberry picking season. Daddy had a big strawberry patch. The short harvest period required many hands. Daddy hired local kids, paid them six or seven cents a box, depending on price he would get at the farmer's market. We got paid too. If one worked steadily payment at seven cents a box could easily reach $3.50 or $4.00 a say. A fortune.
Ivy and I were good berry pickers. Arville was less diligent-- easily distracted by bugs, birds and the taste of the berries. Diane and J.B. were another matter. At least when they began to pick. True they were young and should not have been allowed to pick. True Daddy gave them the chance-- on a seven cents a box day.
It was also true that they were clever and dishonest. Ivy, Arville and I filled box after box. Diane and J.B. filled their share until Daddy discovered why his youngest were so productive. They filled each box two thirds full of grass with one third berries on the top. Needless to say they did not get their seven cents a box. Nor did they pick any more berries that season.
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