If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pickles

When I was a kid growing up on Konitzer Road south of Oconto Falls, most of the families in our neighborhood grew cucumbers (we called them “pickles”), so the kids in the area all picked pickles for our allowances.
I disliked the work intensely. In order to make the most money, we’d have to pick almost daily. The Bond Pickle Company had a satellite station in Oconto Falls, about a block east of Tait’s feed mill, where we had to take our daily harvest, and they paid premium prices for “grade 1” pickles, those less than an inch in diameter. So we’d crawl on hands and knees through the rows picking that size, leaving those smaller than that for the next day.
Occasionally, we’d find some bigger cukes we’d missed in earlier pickings. Those grade 2, grade 3 or oversized pickles didn’t bring much money from the factory, so those would usually go to our own kitchen for slicing. We ate a lot of cukes during the season, and Mom pickled a lot of dills and bread and butter pickles. The really big ones got ground up and made into relish.
If you’ve done much handling of cucumbers, especially those grown for pickling, you know that they have little sharp spiky growths on the outsides of the fruit. I don’t know what the spikes are for; maybe to protect them from little varmints? Anyway, those little black spikes would stick in your fingers like slivers of wood, and by the end of the day, you’d have some sore hands.
Dad was very strict about the way we picked the pickles. They had to be “pushed” or twisted from the vines, never pulled. Pulling could result in broken vines or up-rooted plants. That wouldn’t do, because we had to be sure that the vines continued to produce for several weeks in order to be the most cost-effective.
The cucumbers had be delivered to the buying station in town the same day they were harvested. Holding them overnight resulted in excessive weight loss and increased the risk of fruit rots. And we were always told that the cucumbers had to be handled carefully to avoid bruises and punctures. But when we’d get them to the station, the handlers there would take our gunny sacks, throw them on the scale and dump them unceremoniously onto the sorting conveyor, which shook them so they’d fall into various grading boxes.
As I mentioned, our cukes went to the Bond Pickle Company, whose processing plant was in Oconto. In those days it was a major source of employment in the area. The Bond Pickle Company was owned by five brothers, all sons of George Bond of Oconto: Edward, Clarence, Truman, Leon and Arthur.
According to my research, they had formed the company in 1917 and purchased the former Pea Factory property on West Main Street. It wasn’t long before they outgrew the original building (which remained but a small part of the factory). I read that by 1938 it had grown into the largest pickle processing plant in the country.
Bond’s Pickles was bought out by Dean’s in 1985. An article in the Chicago Tribune in August 1985 stated that with the purchase, Dean would increase its pickles sales to $85 million a year. That’s a lot of pickles!
I haven’t been to Oconto in many years, so I don’t know if the pickle factory is still there, but I did notice there was a Bond Community Center in the city, a gift to the city from Leon Bond. When I looked at the center’s website, I found it provides health and recreation programs and services with four-lane pool, whirlpool, sauna, racquetball courts, aerobics studio, walking/running track, gymnasium, weight room and cardio-vascular room. It also has a pickleball court outside. Appropriate, right?
I found an obituary for Leon Bond from March 2000. He died at 104, having lived his entire life in Oconto County. The obituary said he was known for his leadership of the Bond Pickle Company from its founding in 1917 and that he was regarded nationally as a businessman and philanthropist. The Bond Center stands as a tribute to him and to the legacy of Bond Pickle Company.
Special note to my Times Herald readers: Today marks nine years that my column has appeared in this wonderful little newspaper. I am grateful for the kind reception you have given me over those years. Your feedback has been gratifying.