On this Labor Day I’m reminded of a day in 1984 when I ventured out to Spillcorn. I had heard that a crew of Mexican farmworkers would be there harvesting tomatoes. As I had not heard of any Latino farmworkers in the county, I wanted to check it out. I wasn’t disappointed.
When I arrived I found a crew of six or seven men picking and loading tomatoes from an acre-size field. Off to the side was a single woman dutifully fixing food over an open fire for the pickers - tortillas, beans, cheese, tomatoes. Mariachi music was blaring over a tape player as the woman cooked and the men picked. They seemed happy to be working.
Now, 40 years later, I realize we as a country are still totally dependent on these men and women who grow and harvest our fruit and vegetables. I understand that without them we wouldn’t be eating anything fresh.
I picked tomatoes for a neighbor on Big Pine for two consecutive summers. It was hard, dirty work that left me coughing and itchy from the sprayed fruit. I would not want to be doing it again and am thankful for these nameless individuals who do this work.
So, when I hear politicians and other community members threaten to remove these farmworkers, or lock them up in camps, I wonder, who will pick our tomatoes, or harvest our breakfast berries, or milk our cows? Not me, and more than likely, not you.
Instead of being resentful, perhaps, we should all be thankful. I know I am.
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