Connie's Corner

Just a need to say...

During the early years of my marriage, we lived about two miles from a monstrous potato farm. I loved the potato in any form, chips, salad, baked, any way. I never thought very much about where they came from or how they got to my plate.

Down another road, not too far, was a pretty good size field of strawberries. I loved them, too, even hot and juicy right off the plant. I picked a few myself. Then, there were the fields of tomatoes, the watermelons, the peach orchard, the small asparagus field nearby.

We often rode past the potato farm on our way to somewhere else. I saw for a few seconds the ugly concrete block white-washed structures and the dark-skinned families moving in and out of the doorless buildings. I saw them, but I paid no attention. I had a family of my own, and the weight of their care was heavy enough to tamp down all other thoughts.

Now that I am old, I think back to all those strawberries and potatoes I have eaten. I think of the hands that picked them from the ground, the sun burning the skin, the aching back, the hurting knees. I wonder where they are now. I am ashamed of my callousness.