Geneva Marberry wrote a poem several years ago and shared it with us. Before we could share it, Mrs. Marberry died. We reached out to her family and they encouraged us to share it and to honor the memory of this wonderful woman. She wrote many, many poems over the years and we are grateful she included the bank in one of them.
Picking Strawberries on Strawberry Hill
I looked forward to picking time, there at Strawberry Hill.
I would empty those containers into a big pot and then,
I would go back to a new row and start picking once again.
There were big, juicy and sweet red strawberries galore.
Knowing when to quit picking was hard; we wanted more.
Of course I was not alone for all the family did their part.
Each one had their own row and together we would start.
Somebody would always pick more berries than all the rest.
Someone else’s berries would be the biggest and the best.
It was work for we squatted and knelt and got on our knees.
We would think about all the ways the berries would please.
We loved shortcake and cobbler and jelly and yummy pies.
There was always some new strawberry recipe surprise.
The berries were capped, washed and drained the same day.
We froze some and the rest, in the refrigerator would stay.
Early the next morning I made my “strawberry patch” pies.
They were out of the oven long before my family would rise.
At Strawberry Hill they let us pack those containers high!
We shared some with family and elderly neighbors nearby.
Before they started school, our sons were in a berry path.
They became excellent pickers too; I was simply no match.
Strawberries are a healthy food; as a snack they are good.
We picked ourselves, trying to save as much as we could.
Strawberry Hill is gone; Paducah Bank is now on that ground.
I drive by and I think of all those berries that used to abound.
Progress has its’ rightful place in our society; we can’t deny.
I bought my handy, last time I picked; it’s on my wall, close by!
By Geneva Marberry
Written July 17, 2011