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The back of the red Ford pickup rattled a bit as it traveled down the Danville, Kentucky dirt road that led to row after row of beautiful bright-red strawberries. Guests of The Coleman House B and B sat on benches on either side of the truck bed with wicker baskets in hand. Kyla Coleman, their tour guide, and the assistant farm manager lived for these morning rides out to the fields. She loved watching the guests get excited about picking organic produce. Educating people about the benefits of organic food was the premise of her PhD thesis and her passion in life.
The truck stopped just short of a row of strawberries.
Kyla stood up, stretching her long legs, and smiled. “Okay, everyone, can I get your attention, please?” She tried not to laugh at two teenage girls sitting at the end of the truck who were trying unsuccessfully to fan away the dust that had kicked up after Kevin, her co-worker brought the truck to a halt.
A couple from Tennessee with their young son, another couple from Michigan who had flown in to attend a niece’s wedding, and Ms. Barbara Jean, who checked into the B and B for her birthday every year, all sat attentively, awaiting Kyla’s instructions.
“Start on the rows to my left and work your way down the vines. The truck will stay right here should you need another basket.” She reached down to pick one up. “I know everything here is organically grown, but we ask that you not eat more strawberries than you put in your basket,” she said with a smile.
Several of the guests laughed and nodded.
“I always have my share,” Ms. Barbara Jean said, with a chuckle and roll of her eyes.
Kyla grinned at the group, knowing they couldn’t wait to pop a juicy red berry into their mouths. “And remember, you’re picking enough for strawberry pies for dessert and a few other treats.” She moved past everyone and jumped down from the back of the truck. She reached underneath the truck bed and pulled down the steps Kevin had installed to assist guests on and off the truck.
“So, how much time do we have?” someone asked.
Kyla looked down at her watch. “How does forty-five minutes sound?”
“Good, that’s plenty of time,” a voice responded.
Kyla walked around the side of the truck as the guests headed for the fields, swinging their baskets. Kevin stepped out from behind the driver’s seat in the same uniform as Kyla, khakis and a beige polo shirt. He had worked for her cousin Rollin, who owned The Coleman House farm and B and B, for over five years now. Every morning he drove guests of the B and B out into the fields to pick fruits and vegetables that her Aunt Rita, the cook, would later prepare for dinner.
“Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” Kevin asked in a chipper voice.
Kyla inhaled the sweet country air. “That it is,” she agreed before shoving her hands into the back pockets of her khakis and staring off into the vast green fields of the farm. Since she’d joined the farm crew nine months ago on a part-time basis, her favorite job was assisting Kevin with the morning tours. Anything she didn’t know about the farm, he could fill in.
“Well, are you ready to present at World Hunger Day?” he asked. “You look cool as a cucumber this morning, but I bet you’re nervous as all get-out.”
“I am. I was up half