My story would have to start in Germany where all my grandparents emigrated from, and ended up on farms in Oregon where they planted strawberries, raspberries, and corn mostly. It was easy to relate to the BERRY PICKERS in this story – the very long hours we spent in those berry fields each summer, sometimes 12 hour days to get berries picked before they rotted or the rains came. The language of these people is so familiar as they worked. I was surprised that in Maine they used many of the same terms for berry picking that I was familiar with almost 70 years ago in Oregon. Fortunately we did not have any tragic kidnappings or other distressing events to survive.