Prettier Than Kohlrabi

It was on the day Tom Bradley said he had done nothing illegal and a federal judge ruled hard-core pornography did not seem to violate L.A.’s moral standards that I began thinking about strawberries.

My mind has a tendency, when oppressive events threaten the social equilibrium, to seek relief in milder areas of thought. Adlai Stevenson used to say that when the world was falling apart, all he wanted to do was sit under a tree with a glass of wine and watch the dancers.

I tried that once under an oak tree and almost sat on a rattlesnake. Now I sit on the deck and watch the dog scratch. The snake can have the tree.

My point in citing the miseries currently befalling us in the public arena is to explain why I allowed myself to be hustled by three men who believe deeply in strawberries. I needed the kind of relief that vacuity can bring, the way an infant needs ointment to soothe diaper rash.

The three are involved with the upcoming Oxnard Strawberry Festival, which in itself is assuming a faintly ritualistic luster, but this is more than people promoting a fair.

These men think strawberries, talk strawberries, eat strawberries, dream strawberries and, while I didn’t ask, no doubt involve strawberries in their most intimate acts of love.

This is strawberryism with an impact far beyond our secular ability to perceive.

It has been my experience that when a true believer tends to elevate his dogma to celestial heights, the reason often escapes those of us who do not share his enthusiasm. I, for instance, do not believe in strawberries.

I think this came across to Don DeArmond, Tsujio Kato and Bill Garlock the day I met with them in Oxnard. Don is involved in the strawberry industry, Tsujio is chairman of the Strawberry Festival and Bill is the city’s festival coordinator.

They spent an hour attempting to convince me that I ought to be more than casually concerned with the fruit once sacred to Frigga, the Teutonic goddess of clouds and married love.

“The strawberry is to Oxnard,” Kato said, “what Mickey Mouse is to Disneyland. It shaped Oxnard. It is Oxnard.”

I was still thinking about that when DeArmond began discussing the mystique of strawberries. “There is a draw to strawberries that is hard to define,” he said. “Dreams of berries foretell marriage to sweet women.”

“Strawberries were once thought to cure leprosy,” Garlock added.

DeArmond leaned forward. “Aesthetically,” he said, “there is nothing more beautiful than a strawberry.”

“Well,” I said, joining right in, “they’re a hell of a lot prettier than kohlrabi.” Then I asked, lightly, “Is it an aphrodisiac?”

None of the men smiled.

“Probably,” Garlock said.

I learned more about strawberries than it is probably necessary to know. I was beginning to show signs of hypoglycemia by the time I left.

“Don’t you ever get tired of strawberries?” I asked the three men as Garlock pinned a strawberry on my lapel. He looked a little like what I would expect a strawberry to resemble in human form.

DeArmond, who works with strawberries all day, admitted that he didn’t eat as many as he used to, but added anxiously that his children loved them.

When I reached home, my wife said, “It must have been a hard day for you, knowing how you feel about anything sweet. Hang tough. Maybe tomorrow you’ll run over a puppy.”

“I learned something today,” I said. “Did you know there are 40,000 acres of strawberries under cultivation in Oxnard.”

“That reminds me, did you stop and buy the cat food?”

“I forgot.”

“That’s the third day in a row you forgot. They’ll be dead by morning.”

“There are 4,000 trays of strawberries to an acre. That adds up to 16 million trays of fresh strawberries a season.”

“How do they stop the snails from eating their berries? They’re devouring ours. You were supposed to ask that.”

“I forgot that too, but I did learn that the strawberry was first cultivated in England in the 18th Century.”

“I wish you’d start remembering things.”

“It was thus named because children carried them in baskets made of straw, hence. . . .”

(I feel better already.)