Among my early memories are the countless summer forays into the woods and fence rows with my father in search of berries. In Ohio, it was for wild raspberries usually and wild strawberries if we could find them. I can remember Dad lifting and carrying us kids across large patches of nettles to save our bare legs and arms from their stings as we explored. We came home with our pails of tiny wild berries and a glowing satisfaction in the seek and find trek that left us scratched from one end to the other.

Every farmer knows that when a crop is grown on the same field year after year, it becomes inferior in quality and the yield steadily diminishes.