Nothing to get hung about

Our friends from up the road have a strawberry field. It is going bonkers right now. They have more berries than they know what to do with. We are glad to help them dispose of the excess.


  1. I bought a flat of Hood strawberries at the Hollywood Farmers Market and infused two liters of blanco tequila to make some deadly smooth strawberry margaritas. The fruit costs about the same as the booze but boy is that stuff good.

  2. I used to get up with my sister and catch a bus at 5 AM in the Summer, that was already filled with bums, and go out to Gresham and pick berries. These days they would take your children away from you if you did that and I doubt they could find a bum that was willing to do hard work.

    1. I was just telling my wife about this last night! We were eating some plump strawberries and I had a flashback to about 1975. Imagine parents today letting their 12 year old kids to wait on a corner in the early morning hours, for a rickety school bus driven by a likely ex-con, and then driven out of town to toil in the fields. Would never happen.

    2. I picked berries…strawberries, blackcaps, and beans for spending money back in the early 1960s…It was a right of passage to ride the berry bus and get bullied by the high schoolers who were the “berry bosses”.
      And the busses were rickety and the brakes questionable! We all survived and on occasion even enjoyed ourselves.

    3. Patricia Black PetrosinoJune 23, 2023 at 10:58 PM

      Jack I went strawberry picking when I was pregnant with my son-my Italian Nanelle forbid to go - from fear of eating too many, as it would cause a strawberry mark on his body somewhere!!! “Oh stop gram I’ll be fine!”We’ll I feasted on those strawberries, bending up and down slurping every delicious one! My son was born with a birthmark of a strawberry on his head!! I never heard the end of it-until one day I was brushing my hair in her mirror, and she told me the devil 👿 was looking at me! I put the brush down quickly, needless to say!


Post a Comment

The platform used for this blog is awfully wonky when it comes to comments. It may work for you, it may not. It's a Google thing, and beyond my control. Apologies if you can't get through. You can email me a comment at, and if it's appropriate, I can post it here for you.