The first strawberry patch that I remember at our farm was located west of the red pine windbreak, just before you arrived at the night pasture. It was about a half-acre and was fenced so the cows couldn’t trample the berries. Ma was in charge of the strawberry patch, and she took the responsibility very seriously. During the strawberry season—from early spring, when the plants needed hoeing, through the picking season, which ended in mid-July or so, depending on the weather—we were in Ma’s employ. Even Pa had to put off other pressing farm duties when the strawberries were ripe; it was all hands on deck. Along with her chicken flock, Ma’s strawberries represented her own income, money that she used for groceries, Christmas and birthday presents, and occasionally clothes and shoes for my brothers and me.
She grew two varieties: Sparkle, a June berry that took up the majority of the patch, and a few rows of ever-bearing strawberries that ripened in June and offered a smaller crop in fall as well. Ma’s strawberry patch was a “pick your own” project, meaning that folks from Wild Rose, Wautoma, and other nearby villages would come out to the farm and pick berries, under Ma’s watchful eye. She organized the picking to a T. She constructed markers for each row, and when someone arrived to pick (no children allowed in the patch), she assigned them to a row. And they had to stay on their row until it was picked clean, no matter if the row next to it appeared to have better, more luscious berries. She sold the berries by the quart, and most people picked into the wooden quart berry boxes that Ma supplied for pickers who did not have their own.
During strawberry season, one of my favorite treats was a fresh strawberry sandwich. It was easy to make, and nothing tasted better after a couple hours of back-breaking strawberry picking.
To make a strawberry sandwich, I started with two pieces of Ma’s fresh homemade bread, cut thick. On each piece of bread I spread an ample amount of butter. Then I selected a half dozen of the biggest, reddest, ripest strawberries I could find. I plucked out the hulls and arranged the berries neatly on one slice of the buttered bread. Then, with a fork, I gently pushed down on each strawberry, until it was mostly flat with the juice oozing out in every direction. When I finished crushing all the strawberries, I sprinkled a little sugar over them, put the second piece of bread in place, and took a big bite. Oh, what a wonderful taste. It was the taste of summer, and who cared if strawberry juice ran down my chin. Even Ma didn’t comment—though she was usually the one to remind me when my face was dirty. I’m sure she was remembering strawberry sandwiches from when she was a little girl.
Ma was considerably peeved when pickers heaped up their quart boxes, filling them a quart and a half full or more. She reminded them that a quart meant a quart, and that meant level at the top, or perhaps with a tiny bit of heap. Those who did not abide by her rules—stay on your row, no heaping—were not invited back.
My brothers, Pa, and I picked many quarts of strawberries as well, for our own use and for trading at the Mercantile in Wild Rose. Ma traded crates of strawberries (a crate held sixteen quarts) for groceries. During strawberry season, we’d bring several crates of strawberries to the Mercantile at least twice a week—on free movie night, which was Tuesday, and on our regular Saturday evening trip to town.
Sometimes when the strawberry crop was especially good, Pa and we boys loaded several quarts of strawberries in the back of our 1936 Plymouth and headed toward one of the nearby towns—Plainfield, Wautoma, Pine River, or Waupaca. We stayed away from Wild Rose, because Ma didn’t want us to compete with the Mercantile, one of her best customers.
Peddling strawberries worked like this. Pa would send my “cute” twin brothers to knock on a prospective customer’s door, each carrying a nicely filled quart of freshly picked strawberries. (To make sure the berries looked especially fresh, Pa always dumped them into a fresh box after the ride in the Plymouth.) I stood a couple steps in back of my brothers. As the eldest, I was expected to have answers at the ready for the customers’ questions: “Where are you from? How much are your berries? Are these two cute little guys twins?” It was that last question that usually got my goat, but I smiled and answered, always hoping to sell at least two quarts, maybe even three or four. And we usually did.
Ma saved some strawberries for our family to eat, of course, and eat them we did. We loved them in fresh strawberry pie and sauce, in Ma’s homemade jam, and even the deceptively simple sounding strawberry sandwich.
Prepared crust for a 1-crust pie (can substitute a graham cracker crust)
4 cups fresh strawberries
1½ cups water
½ cup sugar
2 tablespoons cornstarch
1 package (3 ounces) strawberry-flavored gelatin
Whipped cream, for serving
Bake the pie shell until golden brown. Set aside to cool. Wash and hull the strawberries and drain well. Slice the strawberries and place in the cooled pie shell. Set aside.
Combine the water, sugar, and cornstarch in a saucepan. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until mixture comes to a boil. Continue to cook over low heat until mixture is thick and clear, about 2 minutes. Add gelatin. Stir until the gelatin is dissolved. Pour hot mixture over the strawberries. Chill until set. Best when served hours later. Top with whipped cream.
Note: This recipe can also be made by substituting fresh raspberries and raspberry-flavored gelatin.
3 pints fresh strawberries
½ cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar, divided
2¼ cups flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
¼ teaspoon salt
⅓ cup shortening
1 egg
⅔ cup milk
2 cups heavy cream, whipped
Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Grease and flour a round cake pan. (An 8-inch pan will make a thicker cake.) Wash, hull, and slice the strawberries. Toss strawberries with ½ cup sugar. Set aside.
In a medium bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, remaining 2 tablespoons sugar, and salt. Cut in the shortening until the mixture looks like crumbs. Make a well shape in the center of the flour mixture. In another bowl, beat the egg and add the milk. Add the milk mixture to the flour mixture. Stir until just combined. Pour the batter into the pan. Bake until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean, 15 to 20 minutes. Let the cake cool on a wire rack.
When the cake has cooled, slice it in half carefully to make two layers. Place half of the strawberries on one layer, and place the other layer of cake on the strawberry layer. Place the remaining strawberries on the top. Cover the strawberries with whipped cream.
Strawberry Sauce for Ice Cream
4 cups fresh strawberries
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
Wash and hull the strawberries. Cut the large berries in half. Put the strawberries, sugar, and vanilla in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Bring to a gentle boil and cook, stirring constantly, until the berries are soft, about 5 minutes. Take the pan off the heat and mash the berries with a potato masher. Add a little water if the sauce seems too thick. Return the mashed sauce to low heat and cook for 2 minutes or until done as desired. Skim some of the foam off the sauce with a spoon if desired before serving. Store in the refrigerator.