To be a strawberry is simple: sprout-grow-ripen-die. There are no decisions to be made on the vine. Survival is nothing but the passage of time. This was not the case automatically. It is the result of agriculture. Human design.

Because humans have to eat, and there’s a a lot of them, they need a lot of food. Strawberries are one solution out of so, so many, unique in taste but standard in requirements for growth. Dirt. Sunlight. Water. Time. All of these occur naturally, of course, but the tenets of the aforementioned, that is agriculture, bring the process to a level of efficiency solely achievable through artificial means.

The need is one that, once met, instead of being satisfied and disappearing, only increases in intensity. As far as the results show, it’s necessary, this exploitation of nature; the rate of growth is too slow to meet demand. It’s a dictator, appeased and still greedily taking more, more, squeezing resources, wringing out every possible drop.

Agricultural authoritarianism. Plasticulture. Non-biodegradable assistance. Soil beds covered in sheets of polyethylene, seeds tucked in like children, weeds til’ they turn into stalks, green, sprouting out from holes punched in the covering (barely big enough) the support system for engorged berries constantly manicured into one direction, high, with any divergence dismissed through the sharpness of a knife and any liquid requirements solved by the dripping of a pipe. With these benefits come a price.

Microplastics. Soil’s constant exposure to polyethylene covering combined with the synthetic nature of everything from irrigation lining to tires grinding means there’s a medley of manufactured mass in all flesh that’s produced – plant and fruit. The concentration of contaminants differs from instance to instance. There is a line used for measurement, followed strictly, that denotes anything on the wrong side bastardized, of an unholy matrimony unfit for the sacred purpose of consumption. But what’s acceptable now isn’t necessarily the case for tomorrow. The line of discernment, the acceptable level of microplastics will shift, positively, the process has to persist so exposure will only increase.

It’s a future of ersatz plants and wax fruit; fake all the way through. But for now, a strawberry not making the cut can still be genuine – a genuine failure at the only thing it could ever do.

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