Hope to find everyone doing well. Grab your coffee/tea and
a little something to eat because I am looking at the leaves of my
My mothers family lived and worked in Texas. They
did a lot of farm work there. My mother would tell me stories of
her picking cotton when she was young and that with her family
being somewhat large all the kids had to work and didn't attend
school often. My mother had an eight grade education. When she
turned twenty she was allowed to go live with one of her brothers
in Washington State after he had left the service and decided to
stay in Washington. This is where my mother met my dad.
My dad and his family were migrant workers. They would migrate
throughout the United States following the harvest season of many
different crops. From the stories I have heard they have worked in
Texas, Minnesota, the Dakotas. and Washington. My dad has relatives
that are Aztec and Maya Indians. From what I know my dad has a fifth
grade education. When my dads mom started to have health issues
they decided to buy a restaurant in Sunnyside Washington. Then for
some reason they sold it and moved to Warden WA. There he worked on
farms. He met my mom they married and had me. When I was about
three my dad and his brothers started a trucking business. I can remember
riding in the truck with my dad while my mother worked in the fields
or sheds where they stored produce.
Some of my dads siblings would still follow the harvest season of some
crops in WA. To make it easier for my parents to not have to pay baby
sitters I would go with my aunt and uncles. I have spent some time in
the strawberry fields, apple orchards, asparagus fields just to name a
When I was old enough to go to school I started my education in Warden.
There were times that I still went with my aunt and uncles to other cities
in WA. while they harvested crops. This is when the trouble began as
to who am I really. We were somewhere in the outskirts of the Seattle
area picking strawberries. Us kids were suppose to get on the bus that came
to the migrant workers camp and go to school. My cousins and I would
hide from the bus and not go. Not because we hated school but because
the kids were not nice to us kids of migrant workers. They would call us
names, spit on us, throw things at us, tell us we were dirty and that we
weren't wanted there. Since we would not go to school we were then
expected to work in the fields and work as hard as the adults. Our elders
thought that if they made us work hard we would change our mind about
not going to school. It didn't work. They stopped following the harvest
season during the school year and only followed the harvest in the summer
when there was no school. Some of my cousins got lucky because by the
time they came along my family had steady year around work and they
never set foot in a field and never learned what hard work is. The
school kids were still the same no matter what school we went to they
didn't like us because of our skin color.
I know this is long so I will stop here for today.
Until my next post Have A Splendid Day!!!!!!!