Strawberries were a big part of my childhood years. I was born on farm in Wisconsin and the word, "strawberry" was synonymous with school's out!

Each spring, long before things would turn green, we would go to the barn and begin preparing for the strawberries by making strawberry boxes.  We had a special machine called a Tacking Machine, that Dad or Mom would operate, but we of course would help. All the children helped, even Grandma!  

Our task was to weave the thin strips of balsam wood into baskets and then hold them until Dad or Mom would install several staples to hold the basket together. After they were stapled, we inserted them into crates, and stacked them high in the barn.

In the spring, before school was out and on Saturdays, we would hoe weeds and dream about fresh strawberries. It wasn't long before the smell of ripe berries was everywhere!  School was out and strawberries were in. 

Hot sunny weather accompanied berry-picking. Picking was hard work, but sometimes we were able to invite the neighbor kids to join in the picking. Having other kids to help was always more fun. It wasn't long before someone would become restless and usually the boys would start the action.  When our parents weren't looking, they would find big, juicy, overripe strawberries and proceed to throw them at each other.  It wasn't long before we were all covered with berry stains from head to toe!  Our parents would tell us to stop, that would usually work for a short time, than the boys would start again.

We were paid $.05 for each quart we picked. My brothers, sisters and I always liked picking the berries, but none of us liked selling them!  In order to sell the berries, we had to walk down the dusty roads to our neighbors and ask them if they wanted to buy them. This was my least favorite job, but we got to keep a whole penny for each box we sold. I always liked it when Dad would stop at the grocery stores and sell crates at a time. 

For the most part, strawberry money was "mom's money" and it was placed in a large cookie jar high on the shelf. Mom used the money to buy some of the "finer things in life", as she called it. At Christmas, the jar was emptied and the money was used to buy our presents.

It was hard work and the days sometimes were hot, but these are fond memories of my childhood.

Don Schmitz is a popular speaker and writer on parenting and grandparenting. He is the author of The New Face of Grandparenting…Why Parents Need Their Own Parents and founder of The Grandkidsandme Foundation and Grandparent Camps. Don holds graduate degrees in Education, Administration and Human Development. He is the father to three sons and nine  grandchildren. Contact Don@grandkidsandme.com