Enough Strawberries

Things had been a little slow among the migrant-strawberry-planter community. The Sunday before last was our last full day, and since then we've only worked three mornings. When we left, by my reckoning the crew had planted about 810,000 runners. It's apparently been raining near Melbourne where the runner plants come from, so they haven't been able to get them out of the ground and up to the farms in the north. The farmers say it'll be full on whenever the plants get to them, but they had kinda said that the entire time. Life can get a little boring without any work to do and without a car to go anywhere, but we find ways to get by, such as watching lots of movies, playing cards, reading, or in my case, writing these silly blog posts.

I'd been apprehensive about it at first, but working bare-footed had been one of my favorite parts of this job. Normally, I am outside without shoes maybe five times a year, certainly no more than ten, and thus my feet have always been a bit on the tender side, never needing to be very tough because I wear boots a lot. They're quite tough now, at least by my standards, and I've developed an appreciation for going unshod. I even found my very light New Balance shoes to be a bit cumbersome after not wearing them for a few days.

With so much free time, Larry and I have gotten to know several of the other planters pretty well, and a few of them are characters. The French take a lot of ribbing, but are good natured about it. The one Italian, Antonio, could easily pass for a mafia man, but is actually an olive and citrus farmer, and just wants to drink wine and talk to girls. The Brits are an especially fun crowd. Whether in the field or around a card table, we amiably call each other 'Allies'.

The house we lived in didn't have any internet, but our landlord's parents, Greg and Cathy, did, and they lived just up the road. Larry and I would sit on their veranda and look out over their paddock where they kept four horses and a couple bulls. They both were extremely welcoming and hospitable to us. Greg often offered us cold Coronas, and the limes he put in were from his own trees.

The woman that hired us owns a strawberry farm, but it's so small that hiring a full crew to plant it wouldn't really make sense. This is the case with a handful of farms around Caboolture, so these farmers have one person hire a team, and the planters do their thing on all the farms as each get their shipments of runners. The woman that runs the show also arranges accommodation for the planters. Because she is in charge of just about every aspect of planting, Larry and I have taken to calling her the Strawberry Pimp.

In retrospect, my previous post may seem a little severe. The trip may take a few more hours than I would've liked, but there are worse places to be than Auckland. I've made more ridiculous air travel decisions before, so I already know I can endure. I've also hammered down the details for getting all the way to Montana, which is a relief.

Larry and I are currently back at the Ihles' in Brisbane. We would have finished out the planting season in another week or so, but we jumped on the opportunity to road trip to Melbourne with Rosie Timmons. The drive should take about twenty hours. We don't have anything lined up for when we get there, as per usual, but we have a place to stay for a couple days. Hopefully we can find work that doesn't strain our backs so much. I wouldn't mind finally finding some sessions either.