One punnet of strawberries shared with Jenny brings to mind the time I picked many punnets.
In the summer holidays of early '72, I was invited to go strawberry picking. A friend of Arianna's wanted extra pickers to help out their new business. Ruby didn't have to convince Coral - the berries did. The prospect of eating as many fresh berries as you like - the brunette knew her girlfriend would come.
The petite miss assumed Coral would coax Josh along. I tagged, too, because Ruby rang me. So rare - who am I kidding - it existed in 'the unheard of.' She issued a polite, crafty invite.
"Luke, Coral and I are going strawberry picking. Would you like to come?"
I blurted, "Yes," fast.
Ruby knew I would at the first mention of my bestie's name. The brunette provided the details of what to wear and my lift. She used the busy excuse to end the call promptly. Her momma likely nagged her to call me. Yet I remained flattered she invited me.
Were Ruby and I friends?
My mind got practical. I need to wear something old when picking. My thoughts wandered. I couldn't wait to discover what Coral wore as 'old!'
Josh, Coral and I had an arranged lift on the day, a friend of Ruby's mother. We departed the suburbs before sunrise and arrived at the fields ready to pick strawberries. Ruby, already there, helped her mother unpack the picnic hampers. I noticed a pixie growth spurt over Christmas and the New Year. The brunette cleared five feet.
Picking strawberries by the punnet is insane, back-breaking work. The word 'intensive' developed a new meaning. Like most things I do, when the task started, I determined to complete it. The manager gave the four of us a field to clear. He used the phrase, 'Field four, Ruby and friends.'
I plucked the outside row; Ruby picked beside me, next to Coral and Josh, the farthest away. As we finished rows, we picked the top of anyone who still needed to complete. After this, we started rows from the bottom.
Being polite, Josh and Coral were careful, slow pickers. As we filled the punnet trays, someone collected them and gave us new empty punnet boxes. Each row of berries had a metal numbered stake at each end to keep us in a picking sequence. We were being paid, so we needed to do the job correctly.
The loamy soil mounded high. Still, we had to bend to pick the berries, which slowly built sore backs. The plants clumped lush, the berries ripe and prolific. I thought I would eat endless berries. Coral ate the plumpest she spied straight away. Beyond that, we ate one or two as it became a steady, picking grind.
After our early morning tea break, I had a screw you, Ruby moment.
She won everything. I increased the speed of my picking. The brunette never missed a challenge. She glanced; she knew, she reacted. The petite minx grasped my move to contend for the top young picker of the day.
As the morning extended, I thought, what had I got myself into with this girl?
The sun beat on our bodies, making them crackbrained to compete in such heat. I sneaked swift glances as the brunette knelt. She plucked and plundered like a pirate—the sun-baked intense before noon. I was glad I wore 'sensible' old clothes: an old greenish-blue check shirt, red paint-splattered, knee-patched jeans, and an ancient Akubra. Ruby wore a red and white checked shirt, which suited her. The faded jeans she wore were clean at the start of the day. Grubby kneed by lunchtime. She wore a wide-brimmed straw hat; it didn't make her look a country hick. Hats suited the little miss.
Ruby and I entered a regular pattern of helping finish Josh and Coral's rows because the pair engaged in pastoral lovey-dove eye contact and soft touching.
Josh (like me) wore an old check shirt and paint-splattered jeans. A creamy coloured paint. It looked like he had jizzed his jeans-no joking.
I wasn't the only one who thought it!
Ruby did, too.
The difference between us, I ignored the stains. The brunette's sharp tongue got active. I knew her fondness for telling saucy jokes. Her acid tongue unleashed as we finished off one of Josh's rows.
"High baby gravy count, Josh; I can tell by your pants!"
Josh responded by patting Coral's rump.
Coral, fast and firm, "Not here, Josh."
"Geez, Coral, look at his jeans or genes! That much jizz, you'll have to learn to swallow."
Ruby never shied from a sex talk.
Coral blushed.
She stopped picking and shook her finger.
"Rubes, not so crude. Guys are spunky; spunk is okay."
The brunette squished a large strawberry between her fingers, leaking a red smear.
The golden girl smoothed the scene as she usually did.
"Please tell us a joke, sweetie. We need it. This is flipping hard work!"
We moved to start the next four rows.
Ruby perked, "I have a riddle."
I wasn't looking at the little minx as she told it. My focus was Coral in jeans and her black go-go boots. I loved her 'old' clothes, a rejected Pierre Cardin shirt belonging to her dad. She tied the long tails in a frontal bow. The shirt shone Mediterranean blue. It shouldn't have suited her hair. She wore a red felt beret. Spied, she informed me later, in a second-hand shop. The hat found its home. It made her shirt seem the right choice. The beret perched like a strawberry atop a field of Californian poppies.
Ruby told her riddle; "Why are sperm such good glue?"
Josh scratched his head.
Coral laughed, "Paste, I don't know?"
I started picking berries in my new row.
"Come on, Moorey, share your ruminations," she directed at me, "God, we know you're mulling behind your quiet tongue!"
No ideas formulated as an answer. I was peeved because the little minx could multitask, tell a riddle, pick fast and pick apart my mind. I remained sure she had picked more punnets than me.
Avoid competing with Ruby, I told myself.
A naughty response flashed into my mind. Sperm fills holes! With Coral present, I wasn't prepared to say it. Instead, somewhat pointed, I offered, "It sticks to the skin."
The brunette caught my tone, "Oh, testy, Moorey, I bet you won't outpick me by six."
Six o'clock, the finish time.
"Oh, you're a complete wench," Coral exclaimed, "The answer is babies."
"Yes, I knew you would get it!" Ruby bounced and smiled, "Babies don't fall apart."
A short time later, from a distance, we heard, "Stop! Stop! Don't finish the row! Lunch is ready, come, come!" from Ruby's mum.
In her enthusiasm, her arms waved as she added, "Vieni adesso!"
We all needed a break. It was better than a break; Arianna spread an outdoor feast—a mother who could prepare and present food. Imagine the most oversized picnic rug you have ever seen and enlarge it. It had a checker red and white pattern—a near-enlarged version of Ruby's shirt.
Our lunch spot was perfect as we unwound and rested under a massive shade tree. Arianna was my youth's food queen. There were whole cheeses. Cheese heaven!
Arranged on platters several types of meat, including the family recipe salami, which I particularly loved. I delved into pickled and cured vegetables, all homemade delights—nothing store-bought. Arianna's sun-dried tomatoes were to die for! Ruby enjoyed them like me.
And how the frick had the woman managed to get warm, crusted fresh bread to a farm! And I loved Italians; they let teenagers have vino with their food. Yes, water was added to the wine. Alcohol is alcohol to teens—even limited to one glass each.
Then I didn't know my wine by name; a white -perhaps a Riesling?
Very refreshing.
The brunette squirmed as her momma offered us boys more food. No worries - Josh and I had bottomless teenage pits. Coral especially enjoyed the delicate prosciutto. However, she spent most of our lunch break cleaning her dirty boots.
Great lunches don't last when there is work to do. We recommenced picking.
"Super," Josh told Ruby following two burps.
"Say pardon," corrected Coral.
From Ruby, "Yeah, sure, try to pick a few berries. We don't want to be here after dark."
She pivoted and plucked. A tough stint commenced picking to afternoon tea around three o'clock. The sun varnished our skins with sweat. Ruby was nearly impossible to vie against. Coral and Josh lagged. Beyond berries, they sought alone time.
After a short break, we faced a final stint to the finishing hour at six o'clock—still too many rows to do. At about five o'clock, help arrived. The other fields were cleared. The middle-aged expert ladies who joined us even made Ruby appear slower.
At 5.30, the brunette's mum asked her to help pack their family car. Her upper lip tightened as her mother turned her back. Ruby did as asked. I never saw the brunette argue with her mother.
It gave me thirty minutes to pick without her competition. Six o'clock came, knocking off time; however, the crop couldn't wait. We continued picking. I finished out my current row by ten past six.
The manager said laconic, "Well done, enough."
He directed Coral, Josh and me to rest. The experienced ladies swarmed and cleared the field.
Ruby re-joined us without her hat.
I squatted in the shade of the oak.
"I think you are still a couple of punnets ahead of me," I said.
Ruby replied, " Moorey, you had an extra forty minutes."
The picnic blanket was folded away.
Coral and Josh lay in the grass, no rug required, wrapped into each other, pecking cheeks.
Ruby poured herself and me a cold homemade lemonade.
The esky stayed to be packed in her mum's car last. We stood near each other, gulping a drink.
After we finished, Ruby said, "Okay, chaser, let's go to the manager for our tally."
The brunette didn't include Coral or Josh. They weren't in this as they snuggled.
"Tallying pecks," Ruby curt as we walked away.
She softened, "You'll be close, not close enough."
"Yeah, I started to chase you at about eight o'clock. I should have started straight away!"
She arched her brows.
We found the manager. He gave her a tally first. I heard my total next. The brunette tallied one more punnet. Neither of us spoke as we plodded back to the oak. Neither of us told Josh or Coral as if they were interested.
And what does the tally mean then or now?
Who is keeping scores?
Did Coral tally her kisses with Josh?
I thought once I would tally to remember every kiss I ever shared. That was before I ever kissed. I thought once I would tally to remember every time I had sex. That was before I ever coupled. And now, as wondrous as memory is, all my kisses and love-making merge like much of life.
"Ruby, bring the esky," her mother called, "Time to go."
The brunette lifted it, ready to leave.
Arianna came closer, "Children, your lift is ready. Go home to your family. Thank you for today, thank you. Grazie."
She gave each of us a big round arm hug and a tub of strawberries to take home. Ruby's mum moved off, offering a broad-handed wave.
A conked-out brunette drawled goodbye to Coral.
She slumped, "Family, eh? You choose your friends, never your family; bye, catch you later."
Each word sounded flatter than the previous. And the 'five-foot-nothing' '72 version of Ruby trudged away.
Coral, sympathetic, "Poor dear, she worked so hard, she's overtired."
My bestie raced after a hunched brunette and popped her red beret atop her girlfriend's ponytail.
They shared a weary laugh.
Tired, we were all tired!
As she carried the esky to the car, it lacked the brunette's signature strut.
Coral, Josh and I went home to family.
Ruby returned with her mum.