(no subject)
So we made camp on Sukhi's orchard the night before we would start work. He pointed down a dirt road dividing two blocks of fruit trees on his orchard and told us to pitch our tent wherever. There was a road just off of that with rows of trees on either side, each row had a tent pitched between the trees with a few personal belongings of the owners strewn around-5 other tents in total. This is the camp-site we would come to know as "the lane".
We met a few of our fellow pickers who were still awake and figured out what this place was about. It was very close-knit, everyone here hung out together and got drunk. The first people we met were Felix from Montreal and Sam from Chicago, Illinois-the first picker here we've met who wasn't from Quebec. We picked a spot just after an empty row that the tractor drove down and pitched our tents, ready for work the next day.
We didn't know what to expect, we've never picked fruit before in our lives, but we got the hang of it pretty fast. On my first day, I brought in 17 ten-lb pails, the kids from Quebec each brought in 30 and then called it a day. After our first day of work, we got to know the other pickers here. Jean-Michelle from outside of Quebec City, Emanuel from somewhere else in Quebec and Nayalee from Mexico, I think. Over the course of the two weeks we were there we worked together, we drank together, overcame the language and culture barriers and became good friends.
Over time, I began to notice improvement in the speed and ease of my picking. I would be able to do 20 pails a day before the season ended, Nate went from 9 on her first day to the mid-teens. We quickly learned just what it meant to be a "migrant farm worker". We made $2.50 per pail which for most of us worked out to be less than minimum wage, the toilette was an atrocious porta-potty, and every time I opened the door I was accosted by a rank odor and a horde of flies. It was emptied only once the entire time we were there, and only after two days of hassling Sukhi.
The camp turned into a dump of empty bottles, food wrappers and other garbage, there was no hygene here, our baths were in an irrigation canal, a ten minute hike up the road. We ate cheap cans of pasta and beans from super-value cooked over a fire, or when we could afford propane, Sam's stove. Every night, we drank wine and talked under the stars, then long after the sun had set, retired to our tents in a stupor, only to be woken up at dawn by a cowbell. It was time to work again.
"You pick the cherries now!"
Life was not completely simple, there was drama between the members of our faction from the beginning. Gillian and Nate's bickering and general bad behaviour caused a host of problems that eventually led to Gillian leaving for Vancouver. Chelsea joined us a few days before that and from day one, her and Sam were at each-other's throats. I think the only people in the camp that did not have problems with someone were the Frenchies.
Nearing the end of the cherry picking, our camp was moved to the back of a cherry block so th4e block we were in could be sprayed with pesticide. We aranged our tents in a circle between two wide rows of trees,the stove and fire-pit in the center. This camp would be called the circle. By this time, we had all figured out this whole cherry picking thing, I was making 20 pails a day and on the last day of picking, managed to bring in a personal record of 27 pails.
Almost every day we would walk or hitch-hike into town to make use of the ammenities provided here for us. There's the beach where over the course of a week, I have gone from a thrashing emu to an avid swimmer. I can float, swim out into deep water and dive down and swim around underwater. There's also the park where everyone hangs out. It's always full of pickers getting drunk. And of course there's also this library where I'm making this post.
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Cherry picking is over now, first Emanuel and Nayalee left to go east to Creston for their contract, Then Felix left for Naramata to follow the "Cherry Road"-every town along the way begins their cherry season at a different time. Finally Jean-Michelle left to go back home to Quebec. It feels like the end of something.
The scene in this town has changed. All the french cherry pickers have been replaced by spanish fruit pickers and farm workers. We're picking peaches on the same orchard, but the work is crappy and there's not enough of it. It's pouring rain and everything is wet and miserable, the members of our camp are always arguing. Me and Nate will probably be leaving Oliver soon. Maybe Naramata, maybe summerland. We don't know yet. I'll know by tomorrow...
We met a few of our fellow pickers who were still awake and figured out what this place was about. It was very close-knit, everyone here hung out together and got drunk. The first people we met were Felix from Montreal and Sam from Chicago, Illinois-the first picker here we've met who wasn't from Quebec. We picked a spot just after an empty row that the tractor drove down and pitched our tents, ready for work the next day.
We didn't know what to expect, we've never picked fruit before in our lives, but we got the hang of it pretty fast. On my first day, I brought in 17 ten-lb pails, the kids from Quebec each brought in 30 and then called it a day. After our first day of work, we got to know the other pickers here. Jean-Michelle from outside of Quebec City, Emanuel from somewhere else in Quebec and Nayalee from Mexico, I think. Over the course of the two weeks we were there we worked together, we drank together, overcame the language and culture barriers and became good friends.
Over time, I began to notice improvement in the speed and ease of my picking. I would be able to do 20 pails a day before the season ended, Nate went from 9 on her first day to the mid-teens. We quickly learned just what it meant to be a "migrant farm worker". We made $2.50 per pail which for most of us worked out to be less than minimum wage, the toilette was an atrocious porta-potty, and every time I opened the door I was accosted by a rank odor and a horde of flies. It was emptied only once the entire time we were there, and only after two days of hassling Sukhi.
The camp turned into a dump of empty bottles, food wrappers and other garbage, there was no hygene here, our baths were in an irrigation canal, a ten minute hike up the road. We ate cheap cans of pasta and beans from super-value cooked over a fire, or when we could afford propane, Sam's stove. Every night, we drank wine and talked under the stars, then long after the sun had set, retired to our tents in a stupor, only to be woken up at dawn by a cowbell. It was time to work again.
"You pick the cherries now!"
Life was not completely simple, there was drama between the members of our faction from the beginning. Gillian and Nate's bickering and general bad behaviour caused a host of problems that eventually led to Gillian leaving for Vancouver. Chelsea joined us a few days before that and from day one, her and Sam were at each-other's throats. I think the only people in the camp that did not have problems with someone were the Frenchies.
Nearing the end of the cherry picking, our camp was moved to the back of a cherry block so th4e block we were in could be sprayed with pesticide. We aranged our tents in a circle between two wide rows of trees,the stove and fire-pit in the center. This camp would be called the circle. By this time, we had all figured out this whole cherry picking thing, I was making 20 pails a day and on the last day of picking, managed to bring in a personal record of 27 pails.
Almost every day we would walk or hitch-hike into town to make use of the ammenities provided here for us. There's the beach where over the course of a week, I have gone from a thrashing emu to an avid swimmer. I can float, swim out into deep water and dive down and swim around underwater. There's also the park where everyone hangs out. It's always full of pickers getting drunk. And of course there's also this library where I'm making this post.
--------
Cherry picking is over now, first Emanuel and Nayalee left to go east to Creston for their contract, Then Felix left for Naramata to follow the "Cherry Road"-every town along the way begins their cherry season at a different time. Finally Jean-Michelle left to go back home to Quebec. It feels like the end of something.
The scene in this town has changed. All the french cherry pickers have been replaced by spanish fruit pickers and farm workers. We're picking peaches on the same orchard, but the work is crappy and there's not enough of it. It's pouring rain and everything is wet and miserable, the members of our camp are always arguing. Me and Nate will probably be leaving Oliver soon. Maybe Naramata, maybe summerland. We don't know yet. I'll know by tomorrow...