Thorne's Farm

Summer jobs as a kid tended to be slightly on the unconventional side, from stuffing pickles into brine-filled jars at Oxford Pickle factory to making napkins at Erving Paper mill. But there was something about working at Thorne's Farm that has always been a touchstone for me. Dwarfed by other farms in the valley, Thorne's fields of strawberries and cucumbers were nestled at the end of town. (I hadn't developed an aversion to cucumbers yet, for work at the pickle factory came a couple of years later.) Old Mrs. Thorne and her son John ran the whole operation with only short help like me.

The picking started early. Strawberries were too delicate to be handled in the heat of the day; they'd bruise easily, then spoil, and that wouldn't do. So at 13, I'd pull myself out of bed to pedal six miles down Route 5 and 10 to be at the farm by seven. Looking back, I realize this was the first time I truly recognized the peacefulness of the early morning. I'd pass the cornfields and pastures blanketed with fog and catch the chatter of the birds when I'd glide. The pay was 15¢ a quart. It didn't take me long to learn to eat less and to be efficient in preparing my trays for the day. At the height of the season, when the berries were plentiful, I could fill a hundred quarts in a morning. I'd be crawling through the dewy rows, turning over leaves, picking the ripest of the lot.

There was nothing more delightful than unveiling a prize ruby. Every now and then someone would call out with glee. They were either too special to eat or too luscious to resist. Mrs. Thorne was always proud of our thwarting temptation for she loved to display these gems right on top as she sorted through the harvest.

As the heat of the day pulled us from the fields, we were greeted at the barn with a tall sweating pitcher of lemonade. Mrs. Thorne and John would go over the count for the day and report to us on our collaborative efforts while we enjoyed the cool of the barn and relieved our thirst.

With a smile of goodwill, Mrs. Thorne, hearty in her advancing age, pulled down the tin from the shelf above to distribute our pay. Licking her thumb, assuring a fast hold on each bill, she counted aloud our wages, then sent us on our way with a brimming quart of berries.

Copyright © 2001 The President and Fellows of Harvard College.
Webmaster. Last modified Thu, Oct 18, 2001.