“The Early Season Potato”

At 5:00 in the morning, I sat in the back of our truck, my back against the hard metal, my head slumped over as I tried to sleep for a few more minutes.

“It’s almost time,” Papá called as he tapped the truck window behind him.

My brothers tried to wake up, but their heads bobbed like corks in water. We finally spilled off the truck. I rubbed the sleepiness from my eyes as I walked toward the other migrant workers to wait a few more minutes.

Soon, I like everyone else, prepared their stack of gunny sacks. I grabbed as many sacks as my arms could hold, got on my knees in front of the headlights, and counted my fifty sacks, stacking them into a smooth pile. Unlike the fall season potatoes, I would be lucky to fill that many bags since these early summer potatoes

See Full Page