My Life As A Migrant Worker

   I know. I'm supposed to be on vacation. We're
staying with my sister-in-law in Florida.
   She asked if I liked strawberries. I said "Yes."
   Next thing I knew I was bending over in a field
 of strawberries.
    I was picking them!
    They were huge! At least the size of chestnuts
back home!
     Technically, since I'm from Pennsylvania, I
figure I'm a migrant worker while in Florida.
     You can get a sore back laboring over
strawberries!
      There I was in the hot sun, filling my little
basket with these sweet, red, ripe strawberries.
      My wife and sister-in-law were working in
rows nearby. That, I suppose, makes us a migrant
family!
     As soon as we filled our buckets we headed
back out to get some more.
     There must have been a gazillion strawberries
in that field! And not many pickers!
      I just had to wonder what's going to happen
to all those berries that aren't being picked.
      Within a half hour we had picked 37 pounds!
      The plantation (or farm) owner offered
reasonable rates. They charge by the pound.
      I thought maybe I'd get paid as a picket
but it doesn't work that way.
      So we paid for 37 pounds.
      Fortunately they didn't think to weigh me
before and after I went into the fields!
      I had to taste a couple. OK, maybe a few!
      Hey, who's counting?
      Hope you're harvesting something tasty
and that all your NEWS is good!