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This past weekend, I marked the midpoint of another summer, taking my first stint on the family “pickle picker.”
OK, technically, it’s a cucumber harvester, but pickle picker sounds much zippier. To understand the magnitude of this, I need to share some family history.
In the late 1800s, my great-great-grandparents D.T, and Sarah settled in the Warrens area. They started the Moseley legacy of
“growing things” that still runs rampant in our family.
Cousin Rex still lives on the home farm, raising strawberries and apples. In about 1960, my Grandpa Mike started raising other types of produce — sweet corn, melons, cucumbers, etc. — and my brother runs this operation today.
Grandpa Mike was very clever, with words and ideas. As a farmer, he was also an ingenious equipment designer and built the family’s pickle picker almost 50 years ago.
The pickle picker is a very simple design. Three tires, spaced about four to six feet apart, positioned in a triangular shape, fastened together with metal frames. A small motor is mounted on a drive chain that propels the front center tire between two rows of cucumbers. The two riders each lie face down on platforms, positioned about 14 inches off the ground, and pick the pickles as the machine putts along. Old “beverage” boxes are mounted on each side of the platforms for the cucumbers.
The driver (the prestigious position) has the control with a foot paddle to start and stop the machine, while the passenger has to do the manual work of moving boxes, pulling it back on track if it wanders off and turning it around at the end of the rows.
For almost 50 years, the pickle picker has been used around the farm. The acreage of cucumbers has fluctuated over the years, depending on the destination of the crop. The engine driving it has been upgraded to a 5½ horsepower Briggs and Stratton. The old Stevens Point Beverage Co. boxes are still mounted on each side.
On Saturday, I upheld family tradition and took my first trek of the summer on the pickle picker with my 18-year-old niece. I smacked my head and scraped my knee on the same spots my uncles did years ago. I inhaled pollen and dirt, was scratched up with vines and felt the muscle strain for the next two days.
But I also spent a “fun” hour with the next generation of family to work this farm. And I thanked God for blessing us with another summer of good weather, average crops, good health and wonderful family. And I said a brief prayer for our farming neighbors to the west and south that were not so blessed this year. Our thoughts are with you.
Sara Moseley of Warrens, Wis., is one of 13 Tribune community columnists, whose writing appears on the Sunday Opinion pages.
