Strawberry School

In honor of the month of June

“Did you pick your pint yet?” Jean, one of the farms owners, stopped me on the way to my car after clocking out for the day. She had spent several decades on the farm and was rarely seen except during closing in the harvest-your-own field. Staff normally paid for berries just as guests did. But when heat waves passed through ripening berries so fast they would almost spoil on the vine, we were allowed to pick a pint to bring home.

I wasn’t inclined to tell my boss that I actually didn’t like strawberries. Their skin was too firm and their hard seeds protruded like a prickly beard. I winced every time I bit into one, bracing for the sour punch of the outer pink ring and bitterness of its white core.

Before the harvest season, Jean led “strawberry school”, a two week-long training for the interns and apprentices working in the harvest-your-own fields. Although we were mostly learning about the farm and how to interact with guests, Jean was most keen on educating us about the strawberries themselves. As a trained dietitian, she wove food education into the harvest-your-own program to spark enthusiasm for locally grown produce amongst the community.

According to Jean, locally grown strawberries were superior to those found at the grocery store. Supposedly they were juicier, sweeter, and rarely had a white core. Each variety had different qualities. Cavendish were big and firm, perfect for dipping into chocolate. While the Blakemore variety was tart, perfect for baking. Despite having my hands on them for the entire month of June - harvesting, washing, cutting them to bake into sweet breads - I still never saw the appeal. Everytime I cut into a strawberry, my mouth recalled a lifetime of memories wincing at its acidic flesh.

But Jean was very passionate about encouraging people to try them and I was an apprentice with a nutrition degree working toward becoming a dietitian. Sucking up didn’t come naturally to me, but this seemed like a fruitful opportunity to start practicing the skill. Plus I didn’t want to insult my boss and the offer was free.

“My mom would love some.” I smiled. Jean continued to rave about the beauty of strawberries at the height of summer as I happily nodded along. Discussing the sensory experience of fresh produce energized her. I hoped to encourage people to enjoy fresh produce too but sometimes felt lost by her excitement. Maybe I just had faulty taste buds that weren’t made to enjoy strawberries. I was never crazy about fruit anyway.

We said our goodbyes for the day and I walked into the valley farm with an empty green pint. The tall arborvitae lining the valley trapped the summer sun, keeping the berry beds warm all summer. Despite having swarms of guests for weeks, the high sun of late June was hard to keep pace with. Strawberries were ripening faster than could be hand-picked. The valley farm hummed as bees collected the bright red nectar that dripped onto dry straw beds. The berries were begging to be picked.

I joined the summer interns in the nearest row of strawberries, gently lifting leaves to find what ripe strawberries had been left between those mashed by the hot June sun. Despite having an abundance of strawberries to pick from, guests were so eager to meander down rows that they often left plenty of good berries behind. The entrance of the valley farm was lined with white wooden posts with hand-painted strawberries and picking instructions to help guide guests.

Gently lift the leaves.

Look for a strawberry that is red all the way around.

Gently pinch the stem ¼ inch from the strawberry with your thumb and index finger.

My knees kicked up debris as I shuffled them down the row, hay imprinting my skin, gently pinching only the ripest strawberries for my basket. The pint filled slowly as my hands found themselves distracted by rogue chickweed needing to be pulled. As the strawberry leaves stretched to absorb the sun, their runners shot out searching for any open space to grow for next season’s harvest. I tucked them back up into their beds, pressing their roots gently into the ground with my fingers.

Once my pint was full, I carried it back to the car. The scent of sweet strawberries trailed behind me, drifting from the valley into the gravel parking lot. I hoisted myself into the seat of my Chevy Trailblazer and carefully placed the pint in the passenger seat.

Do I buckle it? I don’t want them to spill on the way home.

No.

The drive home was quick- or at least quicker than the commute to my previous job working as a nutritionist for a supplemental food assistance program. In just the first few months at my first job out of college, I learned that sitting in an office chair counseling people about what they should eat was fruitless. As much as I wanted to encourage others to cultivate a healthy diet, lecturing them to do so felt disingenuous. I didn’t want to tell someone what to eat- no diet can be sustained through prescription. I wanted to help people experience pleasure they could receive from fresh food. Actively engaging the community with their food sources felt like the most sustainable way to do so. Luckily, I was able to find an apprenticeship at Jones Family Farms, which was only a fifteen minute drive up the road from my childhood home.

I tried to resist speeding down the winding roads of the neighboring suburb. Tree canopies cooled the air that whipped through my car's open windows. It was a relief to finally have a day of only mild humidity. But the days on the farm were still long and hot and it was hard to stay hydrated knowing how far the port-o-johns were from the field.

Maybe a strawberry would refresh me.

My hand drifted over to a berry resting on the top of the pint. I pinched my fingertips over its green leaves, their texture as fibrous as the recycled material of the pint container. Careful not to create too much of a mess, I took the whole strawberry into my mouth, sinking my teeth into its flesh as close to the crown as possible.

The berry crushed between my teeth, my tongue pressing it against the roof of my mouth. Thick sweet juice gushed from its delicate fibers, its skin dissolving just to leave delicate seeds behind. The juice of the strawberry felt more refreshing than the few swigs of water left over in my water bottle, so I grabbed a few more to rehydrate after a long day in the field.

The sun that peaked through the trees glimmered on my skin, keeping it just as warm as the fresh-picked berries. My mouth relaxed with each bite, tongue soothed by the soft juicy flesh. Jean was right, these weren’t grocery store strawberries. Despite them having a firm outer layer of skin, their fibers practically dissolved from my saliva. Their flesh was so luscious that I had barely noticed the seeds. Not a single bite was sour. Just sweet. So sweet. No wonder the bees had sacrificed themselves to drown in the nectar of those baking in the sun. Noticing that I had taken more than “just a few”, I strategized how I could eat just enough strawberries without making a noticeable dent in the pint.

Just like most kids, I grew up knowing that one should eat fruits and vegetables. But my taste buds found most produce too boring, bland, dull, or sour. Vegetables such as broccoli, cauliflower, and red peppers were completely off limits. While lettuce and carrots could be saved by ranch dressing, apples saved by peanut butter, strawberries occasionally saved by chocolate.

One would think that going to college to study nutrition would have motivated me to eat more produce, but the only thing that did was UConn’s policy allowing students to carry either a piece of fresh fruit or a cookie out of the dining hall for free. As a college student with no job, I stock piled oranges and bananas from the dining hall to save for snacks. Otherwise, I was still reluctant to eat most produce unless it was dripping in dressing or sugar.

My education taught me what nutrients are found in plants and why we need them, but I never learned how to actually desire eating them. As I tried to resist grabbing yet another strawberry from the pint, I started piecing together what Jean had been trying to tell us throughout strawberry school. I didn’t choose to eat the strawberries on my own, they chose to be eaten by me. And once I had tried them, I was hooked. My hand hovered to the pint just like the bees to berry beds. My brain and mouth, buzzing for more.

photo by Amanda Sanchioni

What set these locally-grown strawberries apart from those purchased in the grocery store was that these strawberries wanted to be eaten. In fact, the species has spent their lifetime evolving to be more palatable to animals. Most nutrition programs teach about the human technology that has improved the palatability of food, but few teach students how plants and animals have naturally evolved alongside one another to do the same. This evolution developed as a way to ensure the survival of each species.

Like all organisms, strawberries promote the survival of their species through reproduction. A strawberry plant can create new bushes by shooting out runners to settle new roots, or producing seeds that are stored in the flesh of their fruit. In theory, plants can drop their fruit onto the ground to plant their seeds but this would lead to overcrowding and greater susceptibility to disease. Instead, strawberries rely on animals to help disperse their seeds. If an animal eats the fruit, it will carry the seeds in its bowels and drop them in a different location. Hopefully one in which the seeds have a better chance of survival.

If a strawberry wants its seeds to be dispersed, it must provide a reason to be eaten. The fruit makes itself as exciting as possible to lure in its symbiotic pals. As the strawberry fruit grows, it develops anthocyanins which create a bright red color making the fruit easier to find under its bushy green leaves. Anthocyanins not only catch our attention, but when consumed decelerate aging and the development of chronic diseases. As the berry ripens, it also produces sugar which gives us a quick source of energy. Our taste receptors and brains light up when we taste the sugar, encouraging us to go back for more until we’ve restored our energy levels. The more we eat, the more seeds that can be dispersed. We take care of the strawberry, and it takes care of us.

Many guests on the farm try to pick non-ripe strawberries thinking that they will eventually ripen, but strawberries are non-climacteric fruit and don’t ripen after harvest. A fruit picked prematurely will have less sugar and antioxidants, and therefore be pale and sour. This is the berries’ request to give it more time to ripen on the vine so that its seeds can mature. Once fully mature, the berry is juicy, sweet or tart, deep red, and provides the most health benefits. Therefore, the strawberry picked at peak ripeness is the most nutritious and delicious.

Unfortunately, most strawberries are grown on large industrial farms in California and Florida and shipped across the country to grocery stores. In order to make it to your home without spoiling, they’re picked well before peak ripeness when they’re still crunchy, sour, and firm. No wonder I thought I disliked strawberries let alone most fruits and vegetables. My parents raised us on the cheapest produce from the grocery store. Most of it had been harvested prematurely, leading to lower nutrient density and poorer taste. Industrial farming typically prioritizes high yield over nutrient density, resulting in large crops that are depleted in nutrients and consequently flavor. For most of my life, I considered myself a picky eater. But as I plucked away at the fresh-picked strawberries I realized that my lack of desire to eat most produce was because I was given produce that my body had no desire to eat, and itself had no desire to be eaten.

Jean was right. We were not meant to eat strawberries grown so far away from our own homes. Industrial agriculture may have increased our access to food, but it also depleted that food from nutrients and therefore flavor. Plants and humans spent their entire lifetimes taking care of one another, their symbiotic features evolving alongside one another to ensure each other's survival. But once we decided to exploit plants and dishonor this relationship, we hurt their health and consequently our own.

Most Americans are unaware of the symbiotic relationship humans traditionally have with food. Very few have access to affordable local food sources and therefore lack access to naturally delicious food. Our communities lack hands-on education and as our nutritional professionals are often stuck in the same food system, our food education defaults to providing food prescriptions as opposed to fostering meaningful connections with the land and food. Nutrition education emphasizes a willingness to care about one’s health, as opposed to honoring our bodies natural intuition. Cognitive willingness is overvalued, while pleasure is shamed despite it providing us with important information about the food we eat. Our bodies have spent millenia evolving alongside plants, using pleasure as a motivator to make us seek out nutritious food. So many of us feel guilt for lacking motivation to eat produce, but this resistance is our body trying to communicate with us. The lack of pleasure we receive from industrialized produce is our body's way of telling us that something is amiss with our food.

As my trailblazer breezed up and down the suburban hills, the freshly picked berries couldn’t resist being eaten. I tried to put as much of each in my mouth so that it could catch their juice, but submitted to letting the largest of the berries drip their juices down the heel of my palm. As I pulled up to my parents house, I whipped around the corner and pulled up to the white fence lining the driveway. I rolled up the windows, turned the key and removed it from the ignition. I reached over to the green pint to carry it out of the car and noticed that all of the fresh-picked strawberries that I had picked for my mom were gone.