Member-only story
AGE OF EMPATHY
Immigrants are a Pillar of Our Society
Incidental friendship with a group of migrant workers
We ignore much of what supports our lives. We photograph the arches of beautiful bridges but seldom notice the stout columns lifting them into the air. We enjoy the roof lines of cathedrals without heeding the beams on which they sit. We eat fruit from the trees without much thought of the people in the hot or cold fields that nurture them from saplings.
They are there. Men, women, and children in a large group, picnicking. The four blankets, laid out side by side, carpet the grass in a square. The adults sit on the circumference facing in and talking in rapid Spanish, sharing food on large common plates. The children run around, playing, although a few older kids sit with their parents, proud to be a part of the circle.
They are the migrant workers who come to Wisconsin to work at the nursery for the summer season. Busses bring them in late March and April, then take them south in October where more work awaits in a counter season somewhere in Alabama, or Mississippi, or Louisiana. They come with families. The men work the fields in the tree nursery, many women too. The kids go to the local school.
