A big factor in the immigration dispute is the food we put on our tables. I grew up in South Texas where seasonal migrant workers were part of everyone’s life. I also grew up close to the earth and I knew where my food came from.
Every year my grandfather would plow up a few rows for each one of us kids and we could grow whatever we wanted. We were on our own.
I would put my hands in the dirt and run it through my fingers. I knew how deep to plant the seeds and how much to water, how to thin out the weaker plants and leave the strong ones and when to pull the weeds.
I loved to grow squash. I loved the sensuous vines, the big bright yellow blossoms, the little squashes growing almost hidden under the large shading leaves, nestled on the soft earth until the umbilical cord connecting them with the mother plant dried out and I knew it was time to harvest.
David Mas Masumoto grows organic heirloom peaches and raisins. In “The Day Without Farmworkers” he tells what immigrant farmworkers mean to the future of small farmers and the quality of the food we eat.