[Critique Group 1] March Submission for Critique

[Deanna Noriega]

Turning Red Cherries into Red Winter Sweaters

            

Lisa reached for the cluster of deep red cherries just above her head.  They
were so pretty against the green leaves.  She wondered if she could afford
to buy a warm red sweater for school that color.  Grandma would say it
wasn't a practical color for a ten-year-old, but perhaps mama would say yes.
After all, Lisa would be buying it with her own money.  Mr. Hodges had said
they would get twelve cents a lug and Lisa was still light enough to reach
some of the higher branches where the adults on ladders couldn't go.  Her
small nimble fingers worked fast too.  She was sure to have enough money to
buy one impractical thing just because it was pretty.  Red was her favorite
color.  A cherry red sweater would go well with the plaid wool pleated skirt
she had her heart set on in the fall Sears Wish Book.  

 

Of course, she would first have to buy some snow boots.  Last winter, they
had to share two pairs of boots between the three of them.  One had to stay
inside and watch from a window, while the other two played outside.  This
year, they each needed a pair of boots of their own, because her youngest
brother, Ryan, would be starting first grade.   She also needed heavy winter
under things, like long-johns and wool socks.

 

Thinking of them, made her feel itchy.  She scratched at one of the dozens
of mosquito bites on her thin arms.  There were no screens on the windows of
the sheds, where the pickers slept.  It was so hot and humid at night, that
she kept kicking off the thin cotton sheet and then, those awful pests bit
her to pieces.  At least, Lisa got a top bunk.  The straw the farmer
provided as mattresses, sifted through the planks. Anyone sleeping on a
lower bunk, had it raining straw down on them every time the person above
them turned over.  She was glad her brothers, Mike and Ryan shared the bunk
below hers, because if she had been in the one over where Grandma slept with
her baby aunt, three-year-old Abby, she would hear about it each time she
wiggled the least bit.

 

Good, her bucket was full.  These maraschinos were smaller than the Queen
Anne's they picked yesterday.  It took a lot more of them to fill a bucket
and she needed six of her buckets to fill one lug.  She wished she was big
enough to wear her bucket on a strap over her shoulder like the grown ups,
but a full grown up bucket would have pulled her over backwards she guessed.
Queen Anne's were easier to bruise and Mr. Hodges was real particular about
not damaging the fruit.  He made Mike cry yesterday, by dumping out one of
his buckets on the ground because he said the fruit was no good. He said it
had too many leaves and green cherries in it.

 

Ryan was not much help.  He ate as many cherries as he picked and gave
himself a tummy ache the first day.  Mostly, he looked after Abby under the
trees and grandma said she would give him 50 cents a day for minding his
aunt Abby.  Uncle John, Aunt Martha, and Uncle Ben were also picking to earn
money for school clothes.  They helped pay for gas for the car and food
while they worked the crops for the farmers.  As she scrambled down the
ladder, Lisa wondered if it was lunchtime.

 

            There was a scream. Lisa spun around to see Aunt Martha hanging
upside-down with her foot caught in the crotch of the tree she had been
picking.  Uncle John tumbled to the ground beneath the tree, where his
fifteen year old sister hung.  He rolled around giving out great snorts of
laughter.  His father, Elijah, came hurrying from the direction of the
counting area.

  

            "Get up from there and stop that braying like a donkey!  Sugar
girl, are you alright?" he called.

 

"Get me down pa," cried Martha.

 

            "Hang on. I just need to shift this ladder," said Elijah.  "Now
I've got you. Let us work that foot loose."

 

            Soon aunt Martha was upright on the ground testing to see if
everything still worked.  Her pretty face was flushed with embarrassment and
irritation.  

 

"Oh no, I've gone and split the seam up the back of my pants," she wailed.

 

            "Here aunt Mattie," called Lisa as she hurried over, holding out
her long sleeved flannel shirt.  "I wore this in the morning because it was
a little chilly when we came out so early, if you tie it around your waist,
it will cover up the rip until grandma can sew it tonight."

 

            "You are an angel Lisa, unlike some I could name!" she said,
glaring at her older John.

 

            "I'm sorry Sis.  You looked so funny hanging up there! I
couldn't help it. You aren't hurt are you?"

 

            "No, but I could have been, for all the help you were!"

 

            "Now young'uns, it's time for lunch, your ma has set things up
back at the sleeping sheds.  Let's not keep her waiting."

 

            Lisa sat tentatively on the end of the three legged bench.
Yesterday her uncles had both jumped up together. the bench had overbalanced
dumping her on the ground.  She wasn't going to let them pull that one
again.

 

Grandma Emma thumped down one of the sandwiches and a glass of Kool-Aid in
front of her eldest grandchild.  

            "Now eat this up quick and get back to picking.  If you eat all
this I will make you a sugar sandwich for dessert."

 

            Lisa knew that grandma did the best she could.  There was no
icebox and the wood-burning cook-stove had to be shared with all of the
other pickers, so she usually used their turn at a burner for heating water
for oatmeal, making coffee at breakfast, or canned soup at supper.  Today's
sandwich was canned corn beef hash with mustard, on Wonder Bread.  She
wished it was peanut butter and jelly, but they had run out yesterday and
wouldn't be able to get more, until they moved on to the next farm.  Still,
brown sugar and margarine on a slice of bread would taste good for a treat.

 

            Cherries were ever so much nicer to pick than green beans, where
the rows stretched forever, under the hot sun.  Worst though were picking
cucumbers for the pickle companies.  You had to wear long sleeves and jeans
to keep the prickles on the vegetables from getting on you.  They really
itched and there was no shade in those fields either. 

 

            Lisa had just finished her Kool-Aid, when Tom Hodges stormed
into the area where the pickers shacks stood.  His round face was red with
anger.

 

            "You folks get out here!" he roared.

 

            About fifty people came from all directions.  Some were slight
brown people, who kept to themselves and spoke Spanish. Others were tall
slender Chippewa, like Lisa's family.  There were some Potawatomi and Ottawa
Indians too.

 

            "Which one of you lazy good-for-nothins split my tree right down
the middle of its trunk?  I will lose that tree because someone too heavy
for such a young tree tried to climb it!"  Mr. Hodges glared around at the
silent group of pickers.  No one would meet his furious blue glare.  Grandpa
Elijah was the tallest man there.  He stood six foot eight and towered over
the farmer.  He swept dark eyes over his family, noting that his youngest
son was shifting from foot to foot.  His stern gaze settled on the farmer in
a way that made the man uneasy.  Mr. Hodges turned on his heel and stormed
away grumbling.

 

"You are all a bunch of worthless, sly, shiftless, thieves and lay-abouts.
Decent folk, hold down factory jobs and earned good money.  But, what can
you expect from a bunch of Mexicans, who can't even speak English, or
reservation drunks.  Well, they'll pay for my loss, one-way or another!"

 

Lisa wondered how he thought his fruit would get picked if it weren't for
the hard working people clustered around her.  As the pickers drifted back
to their rows in the orchard, Elijah laid a hand on his youngest son's
shoulder.  "Ben, do you know anything about that damaged tree? He asked
quietly.

 

"Ben dropped his eyes in respect.  He sighed.  "I saw that girl Carmen
Ortega, standing near it crying.  She can't weigh much more than 90 pounds.
I reckon she thought she could climb it."

 

            Elijah shook his head.  "Those folks have it pretty bad I guess.
The car they come-in, looks on its last legs. there were 10 young'uns
crammed in it, besides the four grown folks.  Kinda looked like a clown car
the way they were packed in there."  Elijah straightened his shoulders and
rested his work worn hand lightly on his 13 year-old son's head for a
moment.  "You were right not to say anything.  You didn't see her damage the
tree and those folks have enough trouble on their hands I think."

 

Lisa watched as two pairs of dark eyes exchanged a look of understanding.
Her grandpa and young uncle moved off to their section of the orchard.  As
Lisa return to her tree, she took note of where Ryan and Abby were settling
down on a blanket grandma had spread under the tree she was picking.  Ryan
was trying to convince Abby to take a nap. His chubby-cheeked six year-aold
face was solemn with the responsibility of keeping Abby from getting into
mischief.  Lisa reckoned that he was earning the fifty cents a day he had
been promised. She smiled to herself, remembering how Abby had taken all of
the labels off of the canned goods in the carton of food stuffs last week.
Grandma had to shake cans and try to guess what was in them.  They had some
pretty strange meals, when she was wrong, until the unmarked cans were used
up.

 

            Well enough wool-gathering, she had a lot of cherries to pick,
if she was going to earn enough to buy a cherry red sweater for school! 

 

 

I worked on this because it is snowing and raining, and our submission date
is early next month. Since it is a bit long, I thought you would appreciate
the extra time to look it over.

Keep warm everyone.

DQN 

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