Picking berries.
My first summer job was picking raspberries. I was ten years old.
The following summer I picked strawberries. For three or four weeks my friends and I gossiped across the rows, ate lunch together, and sampled the sweetest, smallest berries. When the field boss wasn’t looking, we threw rotten berries at each other. Most of the time, though, we tried to work fast and pick the rows clean. At night we dreamed of strawberries—rows and rows of fat red strawberries hiding under green leaves.
And yes, we competed, hurrying to fill the boxes in our carriers and then presenting them to the adult on duty and getting our cards punched to keep track of how much we’d picked. They paid us by the flat. At the end of the day, Diane usually had more holes in her card than the rest of us. Diane was good at everything. Seven years later when she became the valedictorian of our high school graduating class, no one was surprised.
My friends and I must have picked strawberries for at least four summers. At the end of each season we waited for the fall clothes to come out. Then we took part of our summer earnings down to the Duchess Dress Shop and bought Pendleton pleated wool skirts and sweaters. Anything left over we saved for college.
Cucumbers
One year after the strawberry season ended, I picked cucumbers. The vines were prickly and the cucumbers heavy. We filled buckets and then dumped the contents into gunny sacks and dragged the sacks up the row and over to the weigh station. Not my favorite job.
This was all in the 1950s. Now in Washington State the minimum age for working in the fields during the summer is fourteen; with parents’ permission it’s twelve.
Working for my dad.
One summer I worked for my dad, sanding, staining, and varnishing the shelves, cupboards and doors of a house he was building on Clear Lake. After work we went swimming in the lake.
Why’d we do it?
Recently someone asked me why we worked in the fields during the summer. Wasn’t it hard work bending over those rows, out in the sun all day, our fingers stained and our skin sunburned? I could only answer that it was something everybody did. The fertile fields of Skagit Valley were nearby, and working in the fields only took a few weeks out of a summer filled with swimming, biking, picnics, parties, and drive-in movies.
Another prized “job” was being a junior counselor at Patrol Camp. It didn’t pay a thing, but the week at camp was free, and we had a ball!
Did you have a summer job when you were a kid? I’d love to hear what you did and what you think about it: Was it a good experience? Did you learn something valuable?
Even though our lives may seem ordinary at the time, looking back does help us appreciate how extraordinary they are. Thank you for the wise words.
It is so much fun to look back and realize we lead extraordinary lives.
“There isn’t any such thing as an ordinary life.” L.M. Montgomery, Emily Climbs
Those were some fun and some long days. Enjoyed the pictures of ark if you. Like Veda I didn’t move to SW until 7th grade. At that age you girls were fascinating. Lol!
Still are!
Actually, Bob, I came to SW only two years earlier, in the 5th grade. My mom and grandpa graduated from SWHS, though, and I knew Lynda from summertime visits.
you forgot about the spiders and snakes that would surprise us as we crawled along the strawberry rows. Those were some memories. My mom always told me I ate more for the daily lunches than I picked in strawberries. Great picture you included. I think I am next to Barbara on the bars. Love each of your postings. Nancy Friedrich Brazzel
It’s great to hear from you, Nancy. I thought you were the one sitting next to me at the table. See what you think.
I loved this blog Nicki! You made me think back to my unusual ‘first job.’ I have yet to hear from anyone else who did this (besides my girlfriends from years ago). For two high school years during the summer, my friends and I were hired by a local craftsman in Vancouver, B.C. to make mannequins , used professionally for store displays all across Canada. He made custom designed large cement molds of torsos, legs, heads, all body parts. Our job was to work layers of paper and a bonding material much like plaster of Paris into the molds. We came home filthy every night and we often spent our day’s wages at the bakery across the street but I don’t think I ever laughed so hardl. Thanks for the memory! .
Working in a mannequin shop must be one of the most unusual first jobs. I wonder what you dreamed of in those days. Everyone I know who picked strawberries saw the berries in their dreams. I suppose you dreamed of a room full of half-finished mannequins, their legs, arms, and torsos strewn about, their featureless faces staring at you. Spooky.
I never had any real summer job as we always traveled for the entire holidays to our cottage but there I was doing all kinds of work for my parents. Helping building, renovating, painting the buildings every few years, picking blue berries for weeks, mushrooms, cloud berries and and and. Summer time for me meant always fun and work at the same time. Not that I got paid but I believe I also learned a lot from these tasks over the past 20odd years.
It sounds like an idyllic way to spend the summer, Timo. And you learned some practical skills which you were able to put to use renovating your new apartment.
To read about Timo’s family cottage in Finland, his new apartment, his wedding and his baby, click on his name. I think you’ll enjoy reading his posts and seeing his photos.
Since I didn’t move to S-W until 7th grade; I didn’t know you guys were forever friends! Great pix! And yes, I too picked berry’s–worst berry-picker in the history of berry fields!!
I wonder how many kids in Sedro-Woolley picked strawberries at one time or another.
Love your berry picking post, Nicki. And those photos are GREAT!
My parents used us as hired hands at times. We would earn $0.01 a bucket for applying Miracle Gro to the trees around the yard. One hundred buckets carted over the acre lot meant a $1.00 pay check.
Starting in the 7th grade (about 12), I began babysitting in the neighborhood. Only when my mother was home in case of EMERGENCY.
We also earned $$$’s by bringing home A’s on our report cards, helping out with the ironing, or cleaning the garage.
All those little jobs must have taught us something. If nothing else, they taught us we could do work that was valued by others.
Wonderful memories, Nickie. Thanks for bringing them back.
You look so cute up there on the bar, Barb.
I never had a summer job. I lived in the country and didn’t have transportation but that didn’t stop my mother from putting me to work. After my Dad died, my mother went back to work and I picked up some of the housework. It’s amazing how fast you can do things so you have your afternoons free! It is also how I learned how to cook. I was 11 at the time and probably the first latchkey kid!
Cooking, cleaning and keeping life running smoothly for the family is such important work. Congratulations for being the 11-year-old who could handle it at such a difficult time.
We never forget our first jobs, right? Lovely post about fruit picking, a job I also did when I lived in France. Great photos as always, Nicole.
I look back with fondness on that first job, but even then I realized it was not a good job for an adult. I hope those early jobs help us understand and empathize with those who pick our fruit and flip our burgers.