I see nothing wrong with some city folk getting out for air to pick apples and pay three times as much for the picking experience for a farm adventure. The farm’s love this income after the main harvest. The Loon that wrote this is to far shut up in his basement to really care about the topic other to make some crap social points that the rich are terrible to the poor working class.
I used to pick apples on weekends when I was in high school (1980s) and I got 50 cents a crate with usually 40-60 crates per tree for a big tree if I got one. Usually 20-30 boxes was the norm. The real pickers took all the good trees during the week leaving the school kids the smaller trees and the trees with the smaller apples. A crate size we used held about 6 milk jugs and we were not paid to fill a 1000 lbs crate as that size would damage that apples on the bottom. I guess that size was for apples heading to cider works where damaged apples are not an issue. It was still good money for me and I never saw any foreign pickers on the farms I picked in New England. I must have been in an old school bubble where the locals took care of themselves. For breaks we ate apples and cheese and washed it down with water or cider and ate a ploughman’s lunch. It was hard work and an experience that now is wonderful.
“I used to pick apples on weekends when I was in high school (1980s) and I got 50 cents a crate with usually 40-60 crates per tree for a big tree if I got one. Usually 20-30 boxes was the norm. “
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While active duty at Loring AFB, Maine, we got to see every year the kids get out of school for the potato picking.
Adults thought it was great, as well as the kids. Farming communities are tight on funds and the money the kids made would go a long way in that part of the state.
I’m sure lefties/liberals would cry and moan about using the kids as labor....
‘I used to pick apples on weekends when I was in high school (1980s)’
I also picked apples, in 1966, the fall of my senior year; on Saturdays and Sundays picked for 9 hours a day (started with ‘greenings’, as the farmer called them, and worked my way throguth to the macs and cortlands); on weekdays after school I worked from four to seven in his primitive sorting mill...
I remember sitting atop one of the trees gazing off into the distance enjoying the warm breeze and the views of the church spires in a town seven miles distant (and eating as many apples as my belly would tolerate)...great times...