My first sales job was selling ollalieberries at the Farmers Market on Alemany Blvd., in San Francisco.
Although I grew up in San Francisco, my grandmother had a ranch in Watsonville, CA...110 miles south of the city. Picturesquely nestled against the coast range, and within site of Mt. Madonna, it was a pretty modest operation. We grew ollalieberries...which are a cross between a Logan and a Young. They are a hardy berry...tart and sweet...a perfect black berry for pies and cobblers.
The ollalieberry season is short...they ripen in June, and are pretty much done by July. During the weekends in June, our family had a stand at the Alemany Farmers Market in The City. (Today, there are two farmers markets in SF...the newer, trendy, and very spendy market is on the Embarcadero, by the Ferry Building. In my youth, there was only ONE farmers market.)
On the Fridays in June, my mother and four younger brothers and I would arise at the crack of dawn, and hit the berry fields...and begin picking the berries that we would sell at the Market on the following day. Fruit-picking can be a numbingly mindless activity...the only ancillary benefit is that you can pop a berry in your mouth when you're hungry. By 3 or 4 in the afternoon, our picking was done...and we loaded the crates into our Chevy Carryall for the two-hour drive up the Coast Highway to the city.
On Saturday morning, we'd get into the truck (which by now had this amazingly concentrated berry smell)...and drive out to our stall at the market. We set out the berry crates...and away we went. The regulars...who would wait all year for the ollalie season...would swoop in and load up on the amount needed for their jams and pies. The neophytes needed more guidance...you needed to give them the "Ollalieberry Elevator Speech,"...the history, background, uses, etc. By this point, the 'free samples' closed the deal...although the tartness of the ollalie was a surprise to those who were anticipating the sweetness of the blackberry.
Initially, I wasn't a very good 'ollalieberry salesmen.' I was shy, and the smalltalk was a challenge. Soon, when I realized how convivial the whole atmosphere was, I developed my rudimentary selling skills. In retrospect, it was a perfect way to learn how to 'sell.'
Today, Watsonville and the entire Pajaro Valley, is surprisingly unchanged from days of my berry-picking youth. Watsonville remains the Berry Capital of the country...most strawberries and blackberries that you find in your grocery store, will show a Watsonville address.
However, development and growth pressures are fast encroaching. The monied interests from the other side of the mountains are looking longingly at this fertile California idyll. It would be a shame if this area was too soon...stripped and mauled.
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