Liking strawberries, however, was about the only thing Martin knew about them which is why he was puzzled when the company sent him out on this assignment. He knew that a new strawberry pastry puff sat on a shelf back at the home office waiting to hit the market just as soon as the company could line up a strawberry supplier, but he didn’t know why they’d sent him. So far, every strawberry supplier had wanted too much money and Martin’s company just wasn’t going to be able to make the kind of profit on each bar that they needed to. In fact, they were about to shelve the whole project. As a last resort, the company decided to send Martin to meet with a new strawberry producer to try and negotiate a deal. The company wanted to cut out the middle man and felt it would be in their best interest to send someone other than their normal buyer, someone who held a little clout in the company, to go and make the first impression and possibly work out a deal. As the company’s Director of Western States, the privilege fell to Martin. He guessed they thought he knew something about strawberries, so rather than contradict them, he had decided he’d go out and do his best. He had faked his way through many meetings over the years. How difficult could it be to go and look at a bunch of strawberries? He would make the best of it and enjoy his day out of the office. A day driving through the countryside away from the riff-raff of traffic and the white noise of the office sounded pleasant. So now, at 8:30 a.m., here he stood, knee deep in strawberry plants prepared and yet unprepared to check out this strawberry producer’s operation. Little did Martin know that this short visit to the strawberry patch, this insignificant day trip out to the farmlands, would send his life and his career down an entirely new path. A new path that Martin never envisioned for himself. A new path that had never been part of his life plan. A new path that would ultimately lead him towards something good, something really good.

After a half-hour meeting walking the rows of strawberries with the field manager, Martin understood more about strawberry preparation, growth, and production than he cared to ever know. He was relieved. He never had to act like he knew anything about strawberries. The field manager went right ahead and filled him in on everything, except for one thing. The only thing that he hadn’t done yet was offer Martin some strawberries to taste. And after walking around in the hot sun for thirty minutes, and only having had a cup of coffee for breakfast, Martin wanted to know just how good these strawberries tasted. Would the field manager let him take some home for dessert tonight? He hadn’t had good strawberry shortcake in a long time. Besides, he could skip the whip cream, he told himself. Keeping fit was a bit more difficult these days. Somewhere along the way he had traded in his tall, lean, I-can-eat-anything body for one that was a bit more soft around the edges. The previous month, he’d made it a goal of his to watch his food intake. But, as he stood and looked out over those strawberries, his meeting with the field manager coming to an end, the thought of strawberry shortcake wouldn’t go away.

“Would you mind, terribly, if I helped myself to a couple of strawberries?” Martin asked the field manager as he bent down and plucked a couple off of the nearest bush.

“No, I don’t mind, take as many as you want. But I wouldn’t eat any of ‘em if I were you.”

“But these strawberries are beautiful. They’re perfect.” Martin replied.

“They might look pretty and they may seem perfect, but they’re sprayed with chemical pesticides and herbicides.”

“But I love strawberries. I’ve eaten them my whole life and these might just be the best looking strawberries I’ve ever seen.”

“Looks can be mighty deceiving. It’s what you don’t see that’s the problem. It’s the stuff we spray on ‘em.”

“Why? What kind of stuff do you spray?”

“We spray pesticides. We spray herbicides. We spray for anything that might hinder the growth of the strawberry plants. You know, weeds and beetles and caterpillars. We pretty much kill anything that isn’t a strawberry plant. And since we kill off everything in the ground, even the good stuff, we have to also spray chemical fertilizers so that the strawberries grow big and are more profitable for the company.”

“So these strawberries are covered in chemicals?”

“Yep. We just sprayed yesterday.”

“But I don’t see anything.”

“It dries clear.”

“I suppose all this chemical spray isn’t meant to be ingested by humans either.”

“That’s for sure. I get to take all the free strawberries home with me that I want, but I don’t take any. I don’t want to give my family and friends this stuff. Heck, the company makes us wear protective clothing when we spray. They don’t want us coming back and suing them in 10 years for some strange disease we contracted from breathing this stuff. That’s why I don’t want my kids eating these strawberries. Heck, I don’t even really want them eating any strawberries from anywhere. I haven’t eaten a strawberry in several years.”

“Then why do you use all this stuff?”

“It increases the strawberry yield and it makes the strawberries look wonderful. The company can then sell more at a greater price.”

“But it doesn’t seem right.”

“No, I guess it doesn’t seem right.”

“Besides, I’m sure your company doesn’t make sure all of those chemicals don’t get washed away after a rain. How many people and animals do they end up hurting?”

Martin dropped the strawberry on the ground and wiped his hand on his khakis. He had to remember to wash his hands as soon as he could. He had thought he’d seen everything he needed to see and been prepared to leave, but now he wanted to see more. He wanted to get a real close look at what was going on here at the strawberry patch. As he continued walking through the strawberry plants he was careful not to touch anything. He did, however, make mental notes of everything and he sure didn’t like what he saw.

Now Martin was no botanist, but he could tell things weren’t right. As a boy, he’d spent enough time playing around his grandparents’ garden to know what looked right and what didn’t. And one thing he knew for sure, there were supposed to be bugs. There were always supposed to be plenty of bugs, but in this strawberry field, Martin hadn’t set his eyes on one. The summer sun beat down on the field but no bees, no butterflies, not even a fly darted about in the air. Not one single, solitary ant crawled on the ground. Strange. The soil looked funny too, almost oily. It looked as if someone had dumped cans of motor oil everywhere. It sure didn’t look like his grandpa’s garden. This soil looked dead. When Martin dug into the ground with the heel of his shoe to take a closer look he found nothing. No worms, no beetles, no signs of life. Things sure didn’t seem right and Martin had seen enough. He needed to get away from these strawberries, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever eat another one for the rest of his life.

Martin thanked the berry patch supervisor for his time and headed to his car. He had a new dilemma on his hands now. What am I going to tell my company? Martin wondered. He knew that his conscience wasn’t going to allow him to tell the company it was okay to use these strawberries. I can’t put chemically-treated strawberries into pastry puffs. I just can’t do it. But what do I tell the company? The pastry puffs are ready for production. What are they going to say? If they say they still want to get strawberries from this producer can I keep working for them? Martin’s thoughts raced. He sure didn’t know what he was going to do.

***

Ya’ know, I find this part of our story to be a bit funny. Not funny in the laughin’ sense, just funny in the strange sense. Ya’ see, Martin, who’s spent his entire life around food, has just realized he knows very little about modern day farm production. Sure, he’d sold food products, started up restaurant chains, and consulted with folks far and wide, but farmin’ wasn’t an area he ever really paid much attention to. He’d never had any cause to worry about the farms because the food that he sold’d already gone through one form of processin’ or another and was far removed from the farm by the time he came across it.

Ya’ see, like most of us, Martin’s been sleepin’ through his meals and his wife’s meals and his kids’ meals. He assumed, I guess like most of us do, that the powers that be were lookin’ out for Mr. and Mrs. Everybody and their families. Isn’t that what they get paid to do? Aren’t there people in high places who have a responsibility to protect the public? Maybe that’s just a little too logical for some folks to understand, especially now that we’ve all visited the strawberry patch with Martin.

Well now, there sure seems to be a problem at hand, don’t ya’ agree? Shoot, if Martin didn’t know any of this -– and remember, Martin’d worked in the food industry for over 20 years – who did?

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