D.F. De Mis Recuerdos

By the time I was eight years old I was clearly aware that economically things were not good. Times were hard and I wanted to help. I told my mom that I could go work on the farm, like some other kids did. I talked to my Mom and I told her that I wanted to work. Although I was young in years, I was very mature. Before my mom gave her permission, she like any good mom conducted her own investigation to insure my safety. She talked to adults that did this type of work. There were many adults for whom this income was not extra cash but part of what put bread on the table. She found that most of these individuals were trust worthy, hard working, family oriented and God fearing. Some of them even attended the same church that we attended, La Iglesia Pentecostes. She even checked out Manolín, the bus driver. Her investigation and interviews were enough to make her believe that her eight-year old son would be safe and well supervised. Now, you know, we are talking… O God, the early sixties, everything was different. The environment, the society and the family structure was totally different. There was still some level of respect, not like today. There was a sense of security then, those were safer times. It’s not that she didn’t care or worry, she was always concerned. I guess there was less to worry about. However, economically we were needy and this offered an opportunity that would benefit the whole family. I used to get up at four o’clock in the morning and walk from Marshall and Oxford Streets to 7th and Thompson. A special bus would be waiting there to pick up those willing to do work in the blueberry fields. The bus was driven by a man know only to us as Manolín. I never knew what his last name was, I don’t think anyone did. Manolín had two or three old school buses that he would use to transport workers to the farms. The blueberry pickers were known as ‘los peperos’. My career as a blueberry picker began at the age of eight. My training was basically informal. All I knew was that I had to have a can, either a round export soda cracker can or a square can. The can needed to have two holes cut into it through which to thread either a belt or some sort of a strap to tie it around my waist. I would have to carry the can in front of me. And that was basically the extent of my training. Most of what I learned came by observation. I saw what other people were doing and tried to do it too. In time, it got to the point that I became somewhat skilled, especially with the blueberries. I did more blueberry picking than any other type of harvesting. Manolín, the bus driver, was pretty well connected with most of the farm owners, so he had a choice of places to take us to work. Of course, Manolín made a commission on everything we did. That’s just the way it worked at that time. Although I worked at several different farms, most of my pickings took place in Hammonton, New Jersey. I had been taken to blueberries farms in Paulsboro, Glassboro and a couple of places in Pennsylvania. Most of the farms were in New Jersey. On the farms, blueberry trees were planted in rows. Blueberries don’t actually grow on trees. Blueberry bushes can grow up to eight feet in height and to an eight year old that is a tree. The tall bushes tend to bend over with the weight of the blueberries. You could look down the row and see an arch of blueberry bushes. You would be assigned a row depending on which part of the field was ready to be picked. Basically, you would stand in front of the bush and literally pop the blueberries off the bush, directly into your can. Once you would fill the can, they would give you what they call crates. We would Spananglish that word and call them cares. These square crates would accommodate 12 wooden pints. We would put the crates on the ground next to us and when our can was filled with blueberries we would pour it into the individual wooden pints. How many cans were needed to fill your crate depended on the type of can you had. I used to have different types. The most common can was the green round Kibler export soda cracker can. One of these cans could fill eight pints. Normally, you would have no more than three crates. Once a crate is filled with blueberries it became kind of heavy. Once all three crates were filled you would carry them to a truck that would come in from the major road. For every crate you turn in, the truck attendant would give you a ticket. These tickets I would stash very carefully in my pocket. I would get three more empty crates and go back to the spot in the row where I had stopped. This you would do repeatedly throughout the day, you know, all day long. I was an eight-year old working amongst adults, young people and adolescents. I was exposed to the farm worker culture. When I think back on it I have seen a myriad of folks and different aspects of my community. I met people and saw things that had I not been blueberry picking I might never have experienced.