The Pilgrimage “Poppy, get off the phone and let’s go”! That was my Dad yelling at me to hurry up and let’s get rolling, my family nickname meaning “little daddy” though my “primos” called me “Dienton” or Beaver because of my horse size teeth. We where on our way to Blythe California bordering Southern California and Western Arizona border town of Ehrenberg and Colorado River Indian Reservation which was a 12 hour drive from my home in East Side San Jose. The year was 1965 we entered the war in Vietnam school had just ended and the summer months were ahead of us. I dreaded the long drive to our destination but anticipated joining my cousins for the summer to pick water melons. We would travel in a red and blue1960 Ford one ton flat bed pick-up truck with side rails where we would sleep often as the boy’s bedroom and transportation upon arrival. On the return trek back we would bring whatever the farmers deemed “colas” or not quality to their standards and discarded fruits and vegetables that we would either consume ourselves or if we had enough we would sell at the newly founded Berryessa Flea Market which was still in its infant stages. This pilgrimage was a religious one for we were transformed from young adolescent school students to farm labor workers earning less than minimum wages. As teens we worked side by side with “los braceros “men from Mexico which meant “extended arms” who came across the border to help harvest the crops and were federally subsidized. The peculiar ones like “Caesar Chavez” one of my grandmothers neighbor who lived across the street on Scharff Avenue was sort of vociferous middle aged Mexican/American with “Indio Mestizo” blood that was adamant about fair labor practices and wages. He wanted to form some kind of farm labor union to give all of us who labor where the gringo just won’t do but loved to eat the crops we picked at top choice prices depending on the product and where it comes from. Some one had to plant it, care for it, harvest and deliver it. We were a poor family following “la siembra” or harvest time to these farms and ranches that hired summer help. Every summer as far as I can remember when school was out and my Dad working at Ford Motor Company the manufacturer of Mustangs and Falcons would close for the summer to re-tool the company for the New Year’s model. This would give our familia a chance to ease our current redundancy of school and work for the coming moments at least then say the same when the time comes from laboring under the sun for 14 hours daily making about ten-dollars. From one extreme to the next was the way of life for many thousands during this era. Farm labor work has been in my genes for many generations in my native blood family as Pasqua Yaqui Indians (Cahita/Pima) who once roamed the regions of Northern Sonora Mexico to Arizona to Southern California to Baja California Norte. My ancestors of Pima Yaqui Nation or otherwise known as Pasqua Yaquis where farmers and ranchers who had no borders and lived off the crops they planted and harvested were considered a peaceful tribe but were vicious warriors when warring with other tribes like the Apaches and Navajos. The Zuni and Hopis where not as warring with the Yaquis as where these other two but never the less those were bygone years and the life of struggle continues for the Yaqui Nation as a whole. “OK Dad”, I’ll be ready in a minute, I need to run across the street to get my boots from Gregory. My Dad being from Sicilian (Palermo) descent born in Los Mochis Sinaloa Mexico and pure Italian .My Mom was “La India” born in El Centro Southern Cal to Frances Moreno Acosta and Juan Paiz who was born in Torreon Sonora Mexico but his roots are from Seville Spain, was buried in Huron California just barely five years prior. Of course Greg Lemos, one of my neighbors and close friend of mine started to experiment smoking “yesca” marijuana and could get a small match box of weed from an old “pachuco” down the street. My cousin Davisito was going to bring some from San Felipe Baja where he made his pilgrimage and were to meet with our other cousin Gilbert Soto whose parents are my “Nino’s” (Godparents) also half breed Pimas like myself and live in Blythe where our first month of harvesting melons would begin for us. Then we would travel northward towards our home in San Jose and seek employment with other farmers and ranchers with crops to harvest no matter what it was be it cucumbers, tomatoes, apricots string beans, grapes it didn’t matter we labored for it for those who paid to consume it. Now that I hooked up and bought a match box of marijuana for two dollars (approximately 7 joints) was finally ready to head south for this summers love hate relationship with nature and God.
Posted on: Sun, 28 Dec 2014 19:58:08 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015