The farmer kept us far away from the migrant farmworkers. We were working for spending money; they were making their living. I felt the gravity of that even as a child. We would leave the fields on busses around 2 p.m., but the migrant workers stayed. Their entire families worked, even the little kids.
I always think of the people who pick my strawberries (and harvest other produce) and send a prayer for their safety and gratitude for their difficult work. I hope they succeed in getting paid a decent, dignified wage ASAP.
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