2 min read

People pick strawberries at Fairwinds Farm in Bowdoinham on July 2. (Derek Davis/Staff Photographer)

It took sweating through a flannel at an apple orchard in Gorham a few falls ago for me to finally admit defeat.

It was hot, I was uncomfortable and to spend enough time there to make the drive worth it, I had to pick more apples than I would ever eat in any form. I really only like the green ones, anyway. Why was I doing this?

Because I’m a millennial woman is why, insatiable for seasonal activities and all their trappings — the outfits, the beverages and, of course, the photographic documentation.

It wasn’t about gathering fruit for my household consumption but the idea of it – and some fantastical version at that. And so, left feeling unsatisfied in a way that even virtual hearts couldn’t have fulfilled, I decided right then I was done picking my own anything.

But, as we learned this summer, the problem was bigger than me. We wannabe farmers-for-a-day have taken a toll on U-pick operations, demanding bathrooms, food and other forms of entertainment, forcing actual farmers into becoming amusement park operators.

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Some of them are putting an end to the madness by closing to the public, not because there’s a lack of business but because whatever we spend isn’t worth the hassle.

Can you blame them? Imagine, during the busiest time at your workplace — April at an accounting firm or election night in the newsroom — swarms of people who thought your job seemed cute came and pretended to do it alongside you, demanding your attention at every turn.

Oh, yeah, and they brought their kids, too.

A child drops a strawberry into a bucket at Fairwinds Farm in Bowdoinham on July 2. (Derek Davis/Staff Photographer)

That’s how I know it’s the millennials’ fault. We’re the ones with the majority of those berry-snatching toddlers of whom the farmers have spoken.

Plus, we’ve got priors. My generation might not be guilty of all we’ve been accused of killing, but as I review the list of victims — marriage, fabric softener, top sheets, breakfast cereal — I find myself complicit in most.

By the time I removed myself from the U-pick racket, it was too late.

If farmers can stomach seeing a field of waving cellphones, however, there is an opportunity, and some are seizing it.

Sell us $7 iced coffees while we’re there. Turn your tool sheds into Airbnbs. Take the money while you can because it’s Gen Z you really have to worry about. They’ll just grow their own.

Leslie Bridgers is a columnist for the Portland Press Herald, writing about Maine culture, customs and the things we notice and wonder about in our everyday lives. Originally from Connecticut, Leslie came...

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