[twitter]When we moved to our home in Richmond, BC in the summer of 1980, the fields behind our house were wild. We were a new subdivision on the edge of town and there were acres upon acres of wild forest right beyond the 15 foot sliver of backyard.
My brother and sister and I explored them constantly. We played hide and seek, we built forts, we went exploring, and we picked blueberries.
I’d wander out in to the bushes, dragging a legion of empty 4 litre ice cream pails with me, and I’d pick blueberries. My dad would clean them at night and then sell them at his office the next day. I’d get 80c a pound, or what work out to about 4 dollars an hour. Not bad for 11.
I did it for a few years, but by the summer of 1984, the fields had been plowed, the tiny school annex behind our house and been expanded, and the neighborhoods were being developed.
I tried riding my bike to proper U-Pick fields in the area and re-selling them, but the cost of buying the berries was too much overhead to overcome. By the summer of 1985, I had my first real job working at McDonald’s, making $3.15 an hour.
This summer, Zacharie is 8. I wonder what entrepreneurial summer jobs lie on his horizon? I’m sure it won’t involve blueberries. He didn’t like it when I tried to eat him during my blueberry pie eating contest at Inglewood Sunfest back in 2010: