The Strawberry Story

Written By: Paula Geonie

When I was young I had fond memories of my father but there weren’t many because most of the time he slept during the day because he worked at night. Life was different then in the 50’s living in Brooklyn. He was working hard to feed his family. He never had enough time or money to do the things he wanted to do with us and certainly he was never able to live his dream. But the land had always called him and so on weekends he began to exchange the sidewalks for green meadows by searching upstate New York for some cheap land to follow his calling: he wanted to become a farmer and grow food for his family.

With help from his parents, grandma and grandpa, he bought a little piece of property “in the country” where he would do some planting. And before he left every Friday, he would try to convince my mother that we should move to “the mountains” but to no avail, a farmer’s wife she wouldn’t be.

As years went by there was an opportunity in 1960 for us to move “out east” to Suffolk County which my other grandmother called “a God forsaken place.” However, we would be able to move out of our apartment and have a house for the first time. We were all excited but I’m sure daddy wasn’t but he never showed it. It was going to be a grueling trip every week to go to the farm and eventually in 1985 it just became too hard for him and so he sold the property.

One of the highlights of daddy’s new roles had become delivering bagels to every family member each Sunday morning. But as we rejoiced, daddy was planning…

Soon after he said to my mother, “I have something to tell you.” She of course immediately knew what that meant. She had heard that many times before.

She asked him, “Where?”

He said, “Right in Suffolk, in Baiting Hollow”

She looked at him closely and said, “Where the hell is Baiting Hollow!”

Daddy had bought a 3 ½ acre farm, at the beginning of the North Fork Wine Trail that had a broken down old house and barn from 1868. There was land ideal for growing organic vegetables and fruits to give to people he loved. He knew what he was talking about. He read everything about Suffolk County, the land, the growing practices and took courses at Farmingdale College.

But we all knew what this new passion meant: no more bagel deliveries on Sunday mornings; at least not for a while.

Daddy decided that he would first grow strawberries, then eggplants, zucchini and tomatoes. And so strawberries were the first to be planted. By hand, all alone, he planted what seemed like hundreds of strawberry plants. I never saw anything like that – ever – although I truly wasn’t the farmer’s daughter as of yet having never had the opportunity to farm with him so maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be. I on the other hand loved flowers, having acquired that “gene” from my grandmother, his mom, whom I was told worked in a florist when she was a young mother. I still wonder if they really did have florists in the 30’s or was that just one of those family stories.

Back to daddy – he would water them all by hand day after day because of course we didn’t have an irrigation system (a what?!) and he said he didn’t want to be bothered with a sprinkler – why? Who knows why… but he did ask family members for help with the strawberries and I told him I would; I loved to be outside with nature and why not, right?

So when the magic day came, I was so excited! My heart was fluttering as I drove on the LIE to exit 71. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. My windows were down, the air smelled so fresh and I felt as free as a bird. When I pulled up I heard the sounds of the horses at play and I knew that this was where I wanted to be. When I got to the barn daddy was waiting for me. I followed him to the half-acre where he said the two rows of strawberries were planted.

Two rows, no big deal, right? How hard could this be?

We came to the rows and I couldn’t believe my eyes – there must have been about 90 million strawberries – bright red, needing to be picked.

I turned to daddy and I said, “No problem, a piece of cake” and he handed me four small green pints to fill up with strawberries. Then off he went to do other planting.

I started to panic. No wheelbarrow or carton? I would have to go back and forth to the barn which was quite a distance and I was going to have to do this all by myself: just me and my great love for the outdoors!

Well I just started picking and what seemed liked two hours actually was only ½ hour. It was an exceptionally hot day in June and it was already in the 90’s. There were hundreds of ripe strawberries and many that hadn’t even ripened yet. I remember I started to feel woozy and knowing that I couldn’t continue – I needed a water break so I stood up and looked back and realized I hadn’t even gone 10 feet – so I got up and my back and knees were killing me! Slowly off I went to the barn with my 4 pints and little black spots in my vision.

When I walked into the barn I almost killed myself tripping over a pitchfork and the horse flies were buzzing over my head. Where was the water?!

Rule #1 – “Thy shalt not go anywhere on a farm without water!”

I got to the barn and suddenly my father appeared. Dammit, I didn’t want him to think I was a slacker. I asked him where he was and he said that he was digging holes to plant other vegetables. God Bless him!! There he was in long sleeves, blue jeans, boots, gloves and a hat and he didn’t have a drop of sweat on him. I’m half his age and I was practically passing out!

I emptied my strawberries and started walking back to the field when I realized that he was following me. I turned to him and said that I was fine and not to worry and that he could go back to what he was doing. Thank God he left.

I was determined to finish so I went back to the row where I left off but something very strange was happening. I knew that I had marked that spot so I wouldn’t get confused but there were hundreds of strawberries that were ripe in that area that weren’t ripe an hour earlier. How could that be? And to make matters worse, my father decided to see how I was doing.

I turned around and there he was standing over me and he said, “You know, you’ve missed picking a whole bunch of them. Why are you rushing?”

I looked at him and wanted to say, “but daddy, you wouldn’t believe it, they weren’t ripe and then….”

But instead I said, “You’re right, I was rushing; I’ll go a bit slower next time.”

He didn’t have to know that it was hard work for me and that I was having a difficult time. I just wanted to help and spend time with him. More importantly though, he needed to see that he had to get the appropriate help which he did almost immediately.

For years after everyone in our family, friends, neighbors, our employees, people who we did business with, and locals all enjoyed the fruits of daddy’s personal labor at no cost. Everyone who knew him loved him. He was so unassuming and selfless. And the stories: there have been so many “strawberry” stories, but you should hear the ones about the zucchinis, eggplants and tomatoes he grew! Sunday mornings eventually had indeed become a different kind of delivery day – he would still get bagels but there was always some organic vegetables and fruits for the people he loved.

Daddy died last year at the age of 87 and people still talk about how kind, selfless and giving he was. He was a rich man but his wealth was not measured in dollars or cents but rather in the amount of goodness he possessed and shared with those who were fortunate enough to know him. He might have loved upstate New York but his true love became his farm at Baiting Hollow and the East End of Long Island.

I was determined to finish the row –

So I went back to the row and specifically to the spot which I had marked. But something very strange was happening. I had to have incorrectly marked the spot because there were hundreds of strawberries that were ripe in the areas about five feet before that spot that weren’t ripe an hour earlier. How could that be? And to make matters worse, my father decided to see how I was doing.

I turned around and there he was standing over me and he said, “You know, you’ve missing picking a whole bunch of them. You shouldn’t be rushing!”

I looked at him and wanted to say, “but daddy, you wouldn’t believe it, they weren’t ripe and then….”

But instead I said, “You’re right, I was rushing; I’ll go a bit slower next time.”