the challenge of wild strawberries

To me, running a marathon or slaying a dragon is not nearly as big a challenge as this:  picking wild strawberries.  Within a short walk behind my house is a weedy patch of wild strawberries protected by mosquitoes and horseflies just waiting for a fool like me to wander by.  Each berry is smaller than a pea, and grows a mere inch or less from the ground.
After staggering home with half a bucket full, my job isn't done.  Then I need to handle each tiny nugget again as I take off the hull and pack in into a freezer container.

8 wild strawberries fit into this teaspoon.

So why have I spent over an hour in each of the last four days tramping through the weeds, swatting madly, my bent back screaming for relief?  Because the amazing flavour of these berries has precious little to do with those monster berries we can buy any time of the year in the grocery store.  And because I can't stand the thought of them going to waste.  Nothing else seems interested in eating them, except for tiny slugs.
I started wondering why they are here - what ecological niche are they filling?  Why do they produce fruit at all, since they reproduce by producing a new plant at the end of a long runner?
Some things are unknowable.  But in the mean time, I will give these babies a function, a reason to be.