1970: My Summer as a Migrant Farm Laborer #2 (Atlanta International Pop Festival)

After a good night’s sleep, we said goodbye to my parents and then headed for Byron, Georgia. We were excited to attend the upcoming Atlanta International Pop Festival prior to looking for more work.

To get to the event, we had to park about three miles away and walk in. We decided to camp outside the festival grounds on our first night. We had left the hot canvas tent in Florida, so ended up sharing a tarp with some people we met.

Pop festival

We spent the next day at the festival roasting in the sun. The temperature was about 104 degrees. There was no shade and no breeze. There wasn’t enough water and ice was considered a luxury. Five pounds of ice cost $1 and we paid 25 cents for a popsicle. The event staff passed out salt tablets, hats and suntan lotion.

I enjoyed the music despite the physical discomfort. We were about 30 feet from the stage!

I had mixed feelings/thoughts about being there. I was super, super uptight during a lot of it. The heat as well as the lack of water and food was unbearable and I didn’t like being around so many people who were stoned.

Our skin was blistered and swollen from sunburn when we left. However listening to musicians such as Jimi Hendrix, Richie Havens,  the Chambers Brothers and the Memphis cast for Hair as well as getting to know some of the people who were there made it worth it. My favorite memory of the event was waking up the last morning to Richie Havens singing “Here Comes the Sun!”

My final conclusion was that I was glad we had gone, but didn’t think I would ever want to do it again.

Pop festival 6

The festival was over at 10 a.m. Monday so we packed up, hitched a ride to our car and were on our way by 11:30. Off to find a job!

 

[Note: My scrapbook says there were 200,000 people at the festival.  Wikipedia said that the estimates varied from 250,000 to 600,000!  Their article contains a lot of interesting information.]

 

(The next post in this series will be published on Friday December 11.)

To read the previous posts go to:

1970: My Summer as a Migrant Farm Laborer (Series Intro)

1970: My Migrant Farm Labor Summer #1  (Seattle to Florida)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Death of a New Pair of Shoes

Sreejit asked his dad, my ex-husband, to write the story of his life. This post is about his childhood and young adult years. While parts of it are difficult (sad) to read, it is also very inspirational. I hope you find it as moving as I do.

1970: My Summer as a Migrant Farm Laborer #1 (From Seattle to Florida)

1 pump

 

There were times during my college years that I picked fruit as a way of making some money. I remember picking blueberries in Seattle and apples in Yakima. I also remember sleeping under a bridge when I picked in Yakima. I enjoyed doing the outside, physical work.

I graduated with a BSN (Bachelor of Science in Nursing) degree in June of 1970. I would not be able to take my licensing exams until September so I wanted to do something very different than nursing until I took the exams. Three friends and I decided to travel around the U.S. doing migrant farm labor. Brenda, who would also be taking the licensing exams, and I planned to also do a lot of studying during that time.

Over the next six weeks, I will be publishing posts about our experiences that summer.  The content comes from a scrapbook I wrote soon after the trip was over.

Scrapbook

June 9, 1970

Mimi, Laura, Brenda and I left Seattle planning to spend the summer doing migrant farm labor. Our first destination was West Palm Beach, Florida where my parents lived. We planned to surprise them on their 25th wedding anniversary.

The rest stop where we ate our first meal had a river and beautiful scenery in back of us but in front there was an automobile junk yard! We were very cold but having fun.

Ready to Start!

The second night out it was pouring. This was the first time all four of us slept in the Datsun.

4 in Datsun

Early the next morning, we had car trouble. The radiator hose broke, resulting in a burned out head gasket. We found ourselves stranded in Plankinton, South Dakota, 250 miles from nowhere. The population of the town was 500. [As I was typing this, I was curious and decided to check out how much Plankinton has grown since 1970. I learned that in 2013 there were 715 people living in the town!]

Main Street of Plankinton
Main Street of Plankinton

Through the help of a minister, we were able to find someone to fix our car and a place stay, the minister’s church basement. Our car was supposed to be fixed by the next day, but due to Greyhound losing three different head gaskets, we were to be in Plankinton for seven days, long past my parents’ anniversary.

The church basement was great; it had a kitchen and everything else we needed. The only problem was that the minister went on vacation without telling anyone he said we could stay there. On the second night, we received a visit from the sheriff. Luckily, once he found out why we were in the church, he was fine with us staying.

Plankinton was very boring though. The theater was available only on Saturday night, and it was filled with a million kids. The teenagers amused themselves by driving up and down main street or by watching everyone else driving up and down main street. We could swim for 50 cents per person.

We are bored!
We are bored!

There was plenty of chance for us to read and study though.

We started worrying about our mental status when, during meals, we found ourselves stripping membranes from the inside of eggs and looking at the fountains that spurted up when we squeezed lemon peels.

Our mechanic, Al, took the car apart on the day we arrived. Once the part he needed arrived, he worked from 10 am to 3 pm and the following day he worked on it from 6 am to 2pm. He only billed us $14 for his labor. Sure was great to meet friendly people.

Our Mechanic, Al
Al

Finally, we left Plankinton and headed on. We drove straight to Florida, making only one stop….to visit a friend. We arrived at my Aunt Muriel’s house early on Sunday morning.

We sure surprised mom when we showed up at church. Dad was happy to see us too. They didn’t seem to be upset when they found out our plans for the summer. I was surprised.

We soon had car problems again. This time we were broke, so we spent a week washing windows, cleaning houses and porches, and selling flowers. We earned $100!

Selling flowers

We had planned to do our migrant work across the south of the U.S., but my Uncle Ted advised us to work up the east coast instead. I thought he had a better idea of what we would be facing than anyone else, so we decided to heed his advice.

One day, mom drove us to Belle Glade. We soon discovered that we would be able to work there picking oranges. We went back to West Palm Beach to get ready for our first job. A couple of days later, we headed back to Belle Glade!

Ready to Start!

We had borrowed my parents’ old heavy canvas tent. A man in a nearby campsite gave us some extra rope and a stake. He said he thought that we were living in substandard housing and wanted to help.

Canvas tent

That first night was miserable. We were inside a canvas tent in hot weather. To make it worse we needed to sleep in hot sleeping bags in order to keep away from the mosquitoes.  The tent was useless. I finally got two hours of sleep by sleeping on the hood of the car.

The next morning, we were up at 5 a.m., in the dark. We drove to the place where we would board the bus that would take us to the fields. The bus was there when we arrived and it was already packed with pickers. We were the only white people on the bus. Everyone kept asking us, “Have you got a man yet?” We were startled by the question and didn’t know what to say. We soon discovered that everyone picked the oranges in pairs, because the ladders were 20 feet long. Each pair consisted of one woman and one man.

We arrived at the orange field at 7:30 a.m. By the time it was 4:30 pm, I was so tired; my body ached through and through. My partner Joe and I had filled seven bins. We were paid for our work at 6:00 pm and were back at our campsite in Belle Glade at 8:00 pm. On the second day, we again picked 7 bins of oranges. On the third day, Brenda picked with Joe and me. We tired much faster this day. We only filled 6 bins even though three of us were working.

The people we worked with were so nice. They knew the third day was our last, and they all wished us luck. Joe gave us a whole chest of fish to take home.   That day, two tiny birds had fallen from the tree. We put them in a hat and took them home so my brother Bill could take care of them.

We arrived at my parents’ house at 7 pm. We were so filthy that they wouldn’t let us sit on anything.

The income we each made from our three days of work varied.  The person who made the least earned $17; the one who made the most earned $31. We estimated that we had earned one cent for every 30 oranges we picked.

We were ready to leave Florida. Next stop- the Atlanta International Pop Festival!

 

(The next post in this series will be published on Friday December 4.)

 

1970: My Summer as a Migrant Farm Laborer (Series)

Migrant worker- me!

One of the most important times of my life was the summer I spent doing migrant farm labor across the United States. It is a treasured experience, one that contributed significantly to making me the person I am today.

During fall of 2015, I was looking through the scrapbook I put together  after that summer. It occurred to me that I could share the whole story of that journey, primarily using the words I wrote in 1970.

Below you will find the links to each post in the series.

1970: My Summer as a Migrant Farm Laborer #1 (From Seattle to Florida)

1970: My Summer as a Migrant Farm Laborer #2 (Atlanta International Pop Festival)

1970: My Summer as a Migrant Farm Laborer #3 (Working in Georgia)

1970: My Summer as a Migrant Farm Laborer #4 (Working in South Carolina)

1970: My Summer as a Migrant Farm Laborer #5 (Maryland and New Jersey)

1970: My Summer as a Migrant Farm Laborer #6 Series End (Pennsylvania and Washington State)

I hope you enjoy the series.

 

Memories from the 60’s

Today is the 52nd anniversary of President Kennedy’s assassination.  At the time, I was fifteen-years-old and was living at Ft. Shafter army base in Honolulu, Hawaii.  Months before he was murdered, President Kennedy had visited Hawaii and I had gone to the parade.  I have treasured this picture ever since then.

President Kennedy

Prior to moving to Hawaii, I had lived at White Sands Missile Range army base in New Mexico.  As the result of President Kennedy’s fitness challenge, the high school students from the base walked the 27 miles to Las Cruces.

I was too young to participate in that walk but I was definitely inspired by it and hoped to do something like it in the future.  I was also excited when President Kennedy started the Peace Corps and AmeriCorps VISTA (Volunteers in Service to America).  I was so proud to be an American.

His death in 1963, followed in 1968 by the deaths of Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy, was quite a blow to my idealism.   As crushing as those memories are, I feel blessed to have been alive during that time.  And all three of them will always serve as role models for me.

 

Note:  This is not a photograph I took myself.  I have no memory of how I obtained it since it wouldn’t have been available at the time of the parade.  I suspect that I purchased it, or it was given to me, soon after the experience.

And So It Begins…….

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My spiritual teacher, Mata Amritanandamayi, who is more commonly referred to as Amma, visits cities across North America each summer and then returns to offer programs in San Ramon, California and Michigan each November. I have not attended her November programs for several years since they are so close to the time when I take my yearly sojourn to her ashram in India. In fact, I often depart for India when Amma is still in Michigan.

It has been three or four years since I’ve been to the Michigan programs and I haven’t been to either the summer or the fall programs in San Ramon for six to eight years. I was surprised a month ago when I felt the strong desire to participate in the first two days of the November meetings in San Ramon. The desire stayed with me, so I booked my plane ticket and reserved a hotel room.

I had several goals:

  • Spend time with Amma and receive her darshan (hug).
  • See the changes that have taken place in her San Ramon ashram
  • Walk the land
  • Visit with the many friends I have in Amma’s community
  • Be open to any learning opportunities that emerged

Time with Amma is always filled with so many experiences and it often seems like time is suspended.  So even though I would only be there for two days, it would no doubt feel like a week.  Whenever I am in Amma’s presence, life lessons seem to speed up and so many synchronicities occur.  I looked forward to discovering what would happen on this trip.

I am writing this post after having returned from the San Ramon programs.  I could write several chapters of a book about my experiences, but have decided to tell you my adventures in walking the land!

In the years since I was last in San Ramon, my life has taken a turn. I have become much more focused on Mother Nature. My eyes have opened and I now see things I never saw before, or at least I see them in a different way.

I knew that Amma had asked the San Ramon devotees to plant orchards on the property, so seeing those was definitely a priority. When I got out of the car on my first day, I looked across the parking lot and saw that there was a big orchard in the distance, nestled in the hills.

I arrived at the ashram several hours before Amma would come to the program hall so I decided to visit that orchard first. I asked a friend how to get their and he gave me a vague idea of how to find the path.

I followed those directions and found a path of sorts. As I made my way through the forest, there were times when fallen trees blocked my path. I crawled over or under them and continued on.  (Note: If you click on any of the picture galleries, the photos will be enlarged.)

Taking this kind of walk reminded me of playing in the woods near my home when I lived on an army base in Germany as a child. Those were some of the happiest times of my childhood.

As I made my way towards an orchard I couldn’t see, I kept the vision of my first glimpse of the fruit trees in front of me. As I walked, I could see small portions of parked cars through the trees from time to time. I realized I was near some of the new parking lots, so felt assured I was going the right direction.

When I came out of the wooded area, I discovered there was a road going from the parking lot to the orchards. If I had known about it I would have reached my destination much faster, but I would have missed the journey and so much beauty.

Soon I arrived at the orchard. It covers quite a large area and was impossible to photograph in its entirety. It is late fall now so the trees look very different than they would have looked in spring and summer, but they were still a welcome sight to see.

Later that day, I explored the orchard that is between the main ashram house and the temple. There have been fruit trees in that location for many years, but now that area is totally devoted to the orchard and some solar panels.

My second, and biggest, “Walk the Land” adventure happened the following day. Around 11:00 a.m., I decided I wanted to walk from the main house to the house where Amma stays. I have taken that journey many times in the past, but not for years. It is some distance away so I thought it would take about forty-five minutes to get there and back.

It had rained during the night so there were areas of the path that were a bit muddy but it was still easy to walk on. There are many different types of terrain on that route and it was so beautiful. At one point, I saw another woman standing near a gully in front of me. I stopped and talked with her for a while and then continued on my way.

At one point, I decided the house was further than I wanted to go on that day. I decided I would only walk until I was at the point where I could see the house.

2015-11-15 11.50.22

Once there, I turned around and headed back to the main ashram.

All was well until I reached the place where I had met the woman. At that point, I could no longer see a path. I had been distracted by talking with her and had not focused on any landmarks.

I found what could have been the path and took it, but it soon ended. I tried one “path” after another but they went nowhere. I was finding myself in areas where the land was wetter and I started slipping in the mud. I slid whether I was going up or going down.

It occurred to me that I hadn’t told anyone I was taking this walk, and that was a mistake. I had my cell phone so I could make a call, if there was phone reception, but otherwise no one would have any idea where I was. Anyone looking for me would just assume I had returned to my hotel.

What to do? Take one step at a time and keep moving forward. Try one route and then another. Deal with whatever comes up.

My shoes were caked with mud, making me slip even more.  I decided to let go of any concern that my clothes stayed clean. When I needed to, I scooted downhill on my bottom or crawled where I wanted to go on my hands and knees.

I remembered my years of going to Christ in the Desert monastery in Abiquiu, New Mexico. That monastery was 13 miles from the main highway and in those days the road to it was made of dirt. One side of the road was against a hill and on the other side there was a steep drop off. When it rained, the road became very slippery. One time I visited, the mud was so deep that it totally filled the tread of the tires. We swerved on that slippery surface as if we were driving on bald tires.

I realized that same thing had happened to my shoes. While the shoes didn’t have tread and were mostly smooth even when dry, they did have some small ridges. Remembering my experience with the tires, I sat down on the wet leaves, took off my shoes, pounded them against the earth and then used a twig to scrape off the thick mud. I was able to walk a little better after doing that.

After many more dead ends, I found myself face to face with a hill that went straight up. I probably remember it as being much higher than it actually was, but it was high enough that I had no idea what was on the other side. It seemed fruitless for me to continue walking on the lower ground, so I contemplated going up the hill. How would I do that though? The side of the hill was primarily made of wet clay, with some sporadic clumps of grass.  I just slipped down it when I tried to climb.

I then recalled hearing that mountain climbers get up mountains by making holes where they can place their hands and feet and use those holes to boost themselves up the mountain one step at a time. I found that the clay was malleable so I started creating holes for my hands and feet. I did not look up and I did not look down.  I focused only on making the holes and taking one step after the other. In that way, I moved up the steep hill.

I had no idea where I was, so didn’t know what I would find when I made it to the top. Once there, I was relieved to discover I was still on the ashram grounds.  I was quite a distance from where I started, but I knew how to get back to the beginning of the path and did so.

Many years ago, my daughter had a challenging experience. After it was over, I asked if she had been afraid. She said, “No, I felt like Indiana Jones!” During this adventure, a part of me also felt like Indiana Jones, and I loved the sensation.  It was as if I had been tested, and emerged victorious!

I recognized that throughout the challenge I had stayed true to so many of the attitudes I do my best to live by.

  • Focus on the moment, not the future
  • Live in awareness.
  • Take one step at a time.
  • Have faith.
  • Trust that my life is unfolding as it should.
  • Realize that the lessons I have learned in the past have prepared me for challenges I face in the present.
  • Believe that I can deal with whatever happens

As I said at the beginning of this post, there were many other special moments during my two days with Amma but these are the one I have chosen to share. I will be leaving for Amma’s India ashram soon, and know that my days there will be filled with lessons.  My time in San Ramon seems like the beginning of my next India adventure, thus my title for this post, “And so it begins……”

 

(Note: This post was not written with the Weekly Photo Challenge: Victory in mind, but it certainly fits the criteria so I will use it for that purpose as well!)

 

Weekly Photo Challenge: Ornate

When I see the word ornate I think of the dolls I used to make as fundraisers for Amma’s humanitarian projects.  I wonder when, and if, I will start making them again!

 

Written for Weekly Photo Challenge: Ornate

Becoming Me in 111 Words

 

Me!

Army brat in a critical household

My heart full of anger

Alone and lonely

Why bother?

 

Headband

Conservative college student, trapped again

Rebel by school’s end

Discovering new worlds

Finding life!

 

Migrant worker- me!

Migrant farm laborer

From Florida to Washington State

Seeing racism up close

Ready to make a difference.

 

scan0012

Married Al and had two beautiful babies

– was unprepared and overwhelmed,

divorce and chronic fatigue left me

feeling empty, alone, beaten down.

 

Me, Pam, Elaine2

Enter Jean, Elaine and Pam

Learned to parent myself and my children

Mentors’ teachings will last forever

I am whole.

 

What Love Means to Me www.amma.org www.embracingtheworld.org

Enter Amma

In her music I find Joy

In her arms I find Home

In her mission I find Purpose.

 

Written for Dungeon Prompts: Becoming You in 111 Words

 

Live to Work or Work to Live?

Chai as Baby
“If you do what you love, you’ll never work a day in your life.”

While there are days when I am tired or discouraged that I may think that I work in order to be able to buy the things I need to live, I know that isn’t really true.  I have no doubt that I live to work.  I  have been a psychotherapist since 1987.  My primary modality is group therapy based on a developmental model that includes the concept of “inner children.”  I believe that one of the most important elements in healing is for clients to learn how to parent those vulnerable “children” inside of themselves.

Most people start therapy because they are depressed and/or anxious.  They may have learned to cover their pain with addictive behaviors such over-working, over-thinking, eating disorders or substance abuse.  They frequently have trouble in relationships and often feel alone and lonely.  Past traumas may cause them to experience flashbacks.  They often have poor self esteem and think they are unworthy and will never be good enough.  They may be very critical of themselves and others.

Continue reading “Live to Work or Work to Live?”

My Journey Towards Humility

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“A true genius admits that he/she knows nothing.” Albert Einstein

“It is unwise to be too sure of one’s own wisdom. It is healthy to be reminded that the strongest might weaken and the wisest might err.” Mahatma Gandhi

“I will not ask thee for improved memory, only for a little more humility and less self-assurance when my own memory doesn’t agree with that of others. Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be wrong.”  An Anonymous Abbess 

“Acting with humility does not in any way deny our own self-worth. Rather it affirms the inherent worth of all persons. Some would consider humility to be a psychological malady that interferes with “success.” However, wealth, power or status gained at the expense of others brings only anxiety- never peace and love.” Commentary on Christian Bible Reference Site

Humility, among other things, is the absence of arrogance. One of the ways I am most likely to be arrogant is to hold on to a belief that I am right and others are wrong. I may verbalize my opinion and then stay silent, but internally I am very likely to be holding on to my rightness.

Two situations from the past come to mind when I think of ways I’ve worked on this issue: Continue reading “My Journey Towards Humility”