THE BERRIES WERE WORTH IT: Duane and I rode our bikes all the way down Sunkist Avenue from Rio Vista to an access road that made it through the avocado and orange groves all the way south to our target. Putting the kick stands down, we would walk over the bermed up sand with the tools of our task for the night: A sharp knife, a spray water bottle and a huge silver D-Cell flashlight. We found our spot and sat there in the Strawberry field on Katella Street; the halo of the Big-A the only glow in the foggy night. We were, of course “technically” stealing produce…but there were acres of these sweet green topped gems and no one would notice the ten or twelve we would feast on that night. With one hand I would hold the fruit, and with the knife, I would attack overly ripe almost two inch wide berry and cut off the stem - then the spray bottle would wash off the rest of the sand. It took almost three bites to get these things consumed. The tell-tale red juice would stain the lap of my jeans as if to be the evidence of our crime. One night, when my friend and I had stuffed ourselves with maybe twenty California grown strawberries, we were just getting ready to stand up when we saw the two demon like head-lights of a truck aiming right for us. We both froze. Thinking that if we just sat still, the idea was whoever was coming out to “bust” us, might just not see us at all. I thought about running, but the fear slowed that desire to a crawl. As the late 1960’s model pickup bore down on us, I could tell we were had. At that point I wasnt sure if we were going to go to jail or if he has a baseball bat ready to “teach us a lesson.” The driver of the truck wheeled his armor right up next to us. He pulled out one of those giant 6-volt battery flashlights that looked like you were holding a small lunch box attached to a salad bowl that created the beam. The unidentified man, still in his seat, had his left elbow causally hanging down the side of the truck door... and with his right hand pointed the hand-held flood light right at our faces. His booming voice came next. I held my breath as he spoke. “What are you boys doing out here this late?” His voice was one of those deep, almost echoing sounds that was slightly seasoned with something from a southern state. I remember, he said “Bouys” and not “Boys” My friend said, “We were just, ah…” That was all he could get out. The arbitrary guard shined the light around the carnage of strewn stems, water puddles and tossed about sand. Then he spoke again, “Look, you bouys don’t leave no trash out here, ya hear me?” “I said, “Yes sir.” He smiled, brought the flood light back in his cab, and turned up the sound on his radio just as the announcer said, “KNX 1070… All News, All The Time” He said, “Night bouys…don’t eat too many now, ya hear?” And he drove off. Duane and I felt like we just got away with stealing the Crown Jewels! That was 1974 in Anaheim, California where it was safe to be a tad bit risky and oh so sweet to enjoy strawberries.
Posted on: Tue, 09 Dec 2014 03:26:00 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015