You know, having grown up in a family where I was herded into the fields1 every summer to pick fruit, I am still astonished that there are actually people out there who will pay for the privilege of doing so. There's a reason they used to have big parties to celebrate the end of the harvest season: harvesting things is not fun. Eating things you've harvested is fun. But the actual harvesting part is dull, repetitive labor that is amusing only for the hordes of bugs that feast on you while you do it. I mean, a day in the country is nice . . . but it's even nicer when you're not bent into an unnatural position, desperately trying to free all the fruit from some spectacularly dull-looking specimen of plant life which is doing its passive aggressive best to defeat you.




1Okay, my grandfather's multi-acre garden. You try explaining the difference to a ten-year old.

We want to hear what you think about this article. Submit a letter to the editor or write to letters@theatlantic.com.