Name
Professor
English 1301
2 September 2015

Life in the Eyes of a Migrant Farmer I grew up in a close-knit family in Mission, Texas. As migrant farmworkers, my parents, siblings and I would travel to the San Joaquin Valley in California each spring to pick grapes and to clean cotton, then return back to Texas in the fall. Even though I loved to attend school and was very goal driven in my academics I was not able to truly succeed because of my family’s occupation. Our journey began right after we were let out of school in Mission finishing my 6th grade academic year. The year was 1973, and that summer we arrived in Wasco, California; a small town with a population of 8,475. (84 E-4 Estimates for Counties and Cities) During our first few weeks in Wasco, we lived with some acquaintances and shared a bedroom until we were able to get a three-bedroom apartment in the camp. These apartments were for low-income families and occupied farm workers. They had beautiful scenery of almond and fruit trees, also they were surrounded by roses. As time passed, a few weeks later we finally received our first job to pick tomatoes. My parents, brother and I were the only ones at the time who could work. My two younger sisters were not of age yet. My parents made sure to buy my brother and I hats, shirts, and gloves so that we can be prepared for our first day of work. Our day started at 5:30 in the morning, my dad had a Chevy pickup with a camper in the back where they would put a mattress so that we would have a chance to sleep until we arrived to the work site. My experience of picking tomatoes was considered decent and I was still able to enjoy myself and have fun. For example, while I was on break I loved to pick and wash a ripe tomato and put salt on it, it was so delicious and fresh. Picking tomatoes lasted for about a month until we were ready for our next job. For weeks we had non stop work in the fields, dealing with scorching heat and working six days a week. Once the school year began we would work on days when we did not attend school and Saturdays. I ended school when I graduated from the 8th grade. My father would not let us continue on to high school because he thought there was too much drugs and bad influences in the upper grades. My father was a very hard workingman and respectful, but he too did not have much education when he was young. My father was very strict with our family; I was not allowed to do anything without his permission. So as you can see, what my father says goes, if he says we have to go work, then we work. My family and I worked full time picking bell peppers and grapes. An interesting part of being a migrant worker was discovering that the grapes I helped pack were sent to different parts of the world. After 21 years of being a migrant worker my final year was in 1984 in Waco. I worked in a fruit shed which began in the spring and ended in the fall. Once I was finished with farm work I met my husband of 30 years. My husband and I were fortunate enough to raise three children who are very successful today. My oldest son is currently an accountant, my daughter is in her 4th year in teaching and my youngest son is finishing his 4th year at the university. Looking back through my life I am very grateful for the experiences that I faced and the outcome that I received.