Here’s the view out my office window. Right now they’re growing lettuce, beets, squash and onions. Last year at this time it was a strawberry field. In winter, there’s broccoli as far as the eye can see.
Here’s what I woke up to this morning as I often do.
I don’t know what time they arrived, but I’m an early riser and from the look of what they’ve picked so far, they were out there long before I first opened my eyes with my usual bewildered “Who am I? Where am I? And what’s this
doing on my face?” Chihuahua
I don’t know if these workers are here legally or not. I don’t care. These men and women are out there every day in every kind of weather, bent over in that field planting, nurturing and picking food so that I can eat. They have more honor and integrity in their calloused brown pinkies than many white-collar workers I’ve come across and certainly more than any of the
politicians who are trying to run them out of the country. Arizona
Farming operations like this one exist all over this nation. Thousands upon thousands of them. You would think with the current unemployment rate you’d see some white faces out there grateful for the job. Maybe you have. I haven’t.
Before I lived in a rural area, I’d go to the store and roam the produce aisle, filling my basket without much thought as to where this bounty I was about to enjoy came from.
Not so much anymore…