One time, Charlie came running into the house with his right hand held high, supporting what looked like some type of important document. “I won!” he yelled.
“You won what?” his mother enquired.
“I won the lottery,” he responded.
“What lottery?” This time everyone chirped up.
“A few weeks ago, our local chapter of the Future Farmers of America (FFA) announced the creation of a new farmer’s exchange program. Sending a select number of FFA high school seniors South to work on selected farms for two weeks. The objective of the program: to give each FFA participant in the exchange program a broader understanding and respect for problems farmers around the country face each day.”
“High school seniors selected from the South will travel North to work on apple farms, and learn to cultivate wheat, rye, soybeans, and other crops unique to our region of the country. This opportunity is limited to a small number of seniors around the country. The FFA organization set up a lottery system, throughout the country to select the winners. I entered my name, never expecting to be selected, but it seems I have. So, it’s O.K. to congratulate me.” Said Charlie, with a smirk on his face.
The Governor of Iowa, never missing an opportunity to put a little spin on a political opportunity authorized the Iowa National Guard to fly the ten Iowa selectees to Tallahassee, Florida where farm assignments took place. The governor of Florida, no slacker in political opportunities himself, made available a small military base near Tallahassee (closed since WWII) where the new arrivals camped until completion of the various farm assignments. The selection committee assigned several candidates to the Everglades area: ostensibly, to work on sugar cane plantations.
Others from the group of candidates were assigned to plantations big on growing a variety of fruits and vegetables, tomatoes, and the ubiquitous ‘Florida alligator,’ at the top of the picking list. The beauty of the area and its climate provided farmers with two growing seasons a year, late winter, and early spring. Those assigned to Orlando worked in citrus groves. Picking and packing oranges for delivery up North. The lucky students assigned to the South Florida area, when not working, spent their leisure time crashing on the beaches in Miami. Those assigned to the Orlando citrus farms receive passes to visit Disney World.
What about Charlie? As luck would have it, Charlie ended up working on a farm in the adjoining county, Jefferson. A county known for raising quality watermelons for transport to Northern markets. The farmer, Roland Stokes, for each year, before planting and harvesting a new crop of watermelons, faced the same conundrum: “Can I, the farmer submitted, before the rainy season begins, get my new crop of melons planted, harvested, and ready for shipment to the northern markets in time?”
If melons are not harvested just as they come ripe, or if a serious drought comes just weeks before, or the never-ending rain spells come during harvest, then the farmer faces losing his entire crop. Buried in debt, the farmer must figure out how to survive until the following watermelon season, hoping to recover his losses from the previous season. That is why we should think of farmers as unsung heroes. The above conditions and risks are the same for the farmers of peanuts, cotton, and a whole list of other agricultural products.
“GOD.” Charlie thought. “It is only 4:30 and they expect us to be up and eating our breakfast in 15 minutes.”
“We must get an early start in order to get into the melon fields just before the sun comes up, if we stand any chance at all, getting those melons out of the field, loaded on trucks and rail cars before the rains come. They will not pick and load themselves; you know. We need every minute of sunshine we can get.” These comments and advice coming from an older experienced worker. One who obviously, had had previous working experience in melons; apparently, knowing what he was talking about.
The large dining area, designed to accommodate squadrons of soldiers in its day, was practically empty with just a few workers occupying two tables. Older field workers, truck drivers, and a couple of new hands like himself, Charlie assumed. Breakfast for the group was prepared and served buffet style with a couple of cooks dishing out food to the hungry diners.
Charlie sat down and began to pour milk and sugar on what he thought was cream of wheat. That is when the laughter started.
“What are you doing, son?” Spoke one of the older working hands.
“Pouring milk and sugar on my cream of wheat. Why? Am I doing something wrong?”
“As a matter of fact, you are,” he answered as soon as he stopped laughing. “In the first place, that is not cream of wheat. You are eating grits. Ever heard of them?”
“I have. But this is the first time I have eaten them.”
Charlie finished his breakfast, including grits, ham, and eggs, which to his surprise, he liked. Charlie, along with fellow workers were loaded in a truck and headed to the watermelon fields to begin their day’s work. First, crossing Leon County line over into Jefferson County. Traveling approximately eighteen miles to the watermelon fields. There were watermelons as far as the eye could see! The area was busy with trucks lining up, passing down narrow rows where field workers were busy loading melons onto the trucks.
Experienced field workers were already in the field, cutting the vine of melons they determined were ripe. Another worker moved the melons to the edge of the row. Following instructions, Charlie got into the bed of the truck, struggling to catch the watermelons as they were tossed up by another worker walking by the truck, reaching, picking up a melon, and tossing it up for Charlie to catch. For the first row, an older worker remained on the truck, teaching Charlie how to place the melons in a neat row, with lots of straw to avoid the melons from rolling around and bruising.
The next row was Charlie’s turn to throw the melons up to his partner to catch them. The first few tosses seemed O.K., like tossing up a heavy football, albeit this football weighed on average, twenty pounds, some lighter, some heavier. As the morning tended to drag on, Charlie’s arms began to feel like lead.
“I cannot believe I have to do this kind of back-breaking work all day long for the next two weeks! Why didn’t the selection committee choose me to go to the Everglades? Using a machete in a sugar cane field, chopping down stalks of sugarcane all day long could not be that bad, could it?”
Finally, lunchtime came. The farm owner’s family members set up tables with a spread of sandwiches, potato salad, fried chicken, and gallons of sweet, iced tea. Charlie had drunk sweet tea before, but this was sweet! Almost gagging sweet. “I could never get used to tea this sweet,” he muttered to himself.
A woman he assumed to be the farmer’s spouse cautioned the young men not to eat or drink too much. “After you eat, you will be going right back into that hot sun. You do not want to get stomach cramps, or let the bear catch you.”
During lunch break, the farm owner, Mr. Stokes dropped by, just returning from one of his other melon fields where the same process was underway. Standing by, waiting to pull out, were two long-haul trucks, destined for farmers’ markets in New York and Boston. They were loaded with melons from the melon field where Charlie worked. Workers at another watermelon field owned by Mr. Stokes were busy loading melons on rail cars. Like those loaded in trucks, a lot of straw was judiciously placed on the floor and around the melons to keep them from bruising on their long journey. Only the best packers were assigned to this loading and packing job.
Following a short conversation with his wife and those around her, speaking to the field workers, and thanking them for their hard, dedicated work, purposefully sought out Charlie. Personally, thanking him for making the long journey from Iowa to join them. “I’m sure, Charlie, you never expected anything like this?”
“No sir, I didn’t,” he replied.
“Well, folks around the country, North, South, East, and West just take it for granted when they walk into a supermarket, the expected vegetables, and fruits to just be there. Never once giving a thought to the hard work that goes into making their choices available.”
“Only when some quirk of nature suspends the availability of certain favorites, makes them realize it is not always such a good idea to assume what you want in the way of fruit and vegetables will always be there. It is a risky business that we in the South and the likes of California are willing to take. It certainly has its rewards, or we would not be in this risky business,” he added.
Charlie, returning to work, continuing his same back-breaking job suddenly realized: the driver of their truck was Brandon, farmer Stokes’ son! Brandon and Charlie, are both High school seniors. Both are scheduled to graduate from high school later that year. Being the boss’s son earned Brandon the comfortable job of driving the truck. As he explained later to Charlie when he got to know him better. “I’ve already paid my dues in full. Tossing, loading, and packing melons as far back as I can remember.”
Back at the barracks just after dark, eating a meal of cold leftovers, a quick shower, and Charlie was in bed, sound asleep by 7:30. Then at precisely 4:30, the start of a new day. Nothing much changed. In no time, the workers found themselves loaded on a truck, and headed East for another grueling day in the hot sun, harvesting watermelons for the Northern markets.
Little Ronnie, perhaps the smallest worker among the group suddenly got sick. The bear’s got him, retorted one worker.
“What does ‘the bears got him’ mean?” asked Charlie. “I heard the word ‘bear’ mentioned by your mother earlier. I didn’t understand its meaning then or now.”
“It is just an expression farm hands use when someone gets overheated,” spoke one of the farm hands. “When his body can no longer cool itself, typically, a profusion of sweat, along with dizziness, and disorientation occurs. And if not moved quickly to a shady area and given treatment, the individual may suffer heatstroke, or in some extreme cases, death.”
“Most of those, going through the experience at least once will never forget its chilling effect.” The feeling that a large bear is holding you in a tight squeeze, making breathing difficult.” Lucky for Ronnie, some of the old hands recognized his condition, immediately caring him over to the nearest shady tree, one that was the closest to the melon patch. His head was wrapped in a cold, wet towel someone rescued from the ice cooler. Miraculously, Ronnie suffered no ill effects and was given the rest of the day and the next day off from work.
Wednesday, Charlie made a bad throw with the melon falling and breaking. Just as he had seen others do, reached down, and plucked out the heart of the melon and ate it. It was so juicy and tasty, Charlie almost cried out in joy!
Then the unexpected happened. His partner shouted: “Jump back! You almost stepped on a rattlesnake which could have been the end of you.”
“Why are there rattlesnakes crawling around during the middle of the day?” Charlie asked.
“Field mice come out at night. Running through the plowed fields looking for something to eat. The rattlesnakes are aware of that, subsequently, the rattlesnakes come out during the day, and after uncovering the hidden mice, the snakes eat them.”
The rattlesnake, measuring nearly seven feet long, was captured and killed. “A bite from a snake that big on a person who is already hot, with his blood pumping at full throttle, death could come in just a matter of minutes.”
