To my great delight, I'm doing a wedding out at Boone Hall in two weeks. I've done countless weddings at Boone Hall but this one is mine. The first Lux wedding at my beloved farm - where my past and present mush together and the people I worked for become the people I work with. It just makes me so happy. Earlier this week I went out there to take some measurements so of course I drove around the plantation until I found some Mexicans to hug. Gilberto's big white smile recognized me from ages away and we bounded towards each other and wondered why so much time passes between visits. We chatted a while and got caught up but one thing took over the conversation. Last week I chopped off 14 inches of hair (I'll take a picture in a second) and the Mexicans are not happy about my haircut. "Oh no Laurita! Your hair!" They loved my long dark locks. I told them it would grow back and they only shrugged and looked down at their hands.
Later I was recounting all the great things about the place and why I love it so much and then I remembered a blurb I wrote about it in college.
* * *
As a nineteen year old white gal I took a job on a local
vegetable farm. Had I known at the time that the country was on the precipice of the farm to table, eat local epidemic I would
have spent more time bragging about it so that I might get credit for starting
the trend. Prior to working on the farm I worked in a bakery for four years. It
was an extremely girlie, pink-walled cupcake bakery and I was so tired of sprinkles
and cream filled love cakes with whipped giggles on top that I needed man's
work. I needed to be outside.
I agreed to sell the farms produce in a make-shift market
that consisted of a tent and a table on the side of a highway. This remains the
most delightful job I’ve ever had. The farm was that of a true Southern
plantation’s way back when. It is one of the few working plantation farms that still exists in the country and
while thousands of tourist visit the plantation every year, few of them realize
there's a large jovial Mexican family living in the trees behind the
information stand.
This happy family runs the plantation and tends to any and all requirements and demands of caring for such a place. They are silly and delightful and deeply love anyone who loves their family. They adopted me right away, saying I looked like cousin so-and-so and loaded up a hot plate of pork and corn for me to eat for lunch. How they could eat enormous, hot meals outside in the middle of summer was a habit I never quite picked up.
Working on the farm had a number of perks. I could take home "ugly" produce that wouldn't sell, could snack on berries right off the vine, and was entirely doted upon as a result of being one of very few females on the farm. My girly
appearance was an unexpected delight to men-folk that stopped to buy fresh gruel. My vegetable
tent butted up to the southwest corner of a large clearing that was divvied
into acres and planted with berries and squashes and melons. While it often
appeared that I was the only person around for acres and acres, there were
usually a few of my Mexican saviors tucked away in the tomato patch or just
moments away from driving a new load of crops past my tent and down the dirt
road to the cooler. Erik, the farm’s manager was particularly dutiful in making
sure I was properly stocked, hydrated, and safe. If he noticed any man
loitering for too long, he would hop out of his truck and pretend to sort
potatoes, prompting the fella to go home.
Sometimes fellas would come to the
veggie stand just to chat. They might buy some cucumbers or blueberries and then they'd just stand there on the other side of the counter and talk to me while I rang
up other customers or unloaded melons from plastic bins. The other customers especially hated this as my attention was torn politely between
them and my hanger-on. People would glare at the fella and then back at me and
stomp off in a huff. Part of what made this job so fun was talking to the
customers. This was partially because I was otherwise alone in a field all day
but also, the kinds of people who will pull over to buy fruit are usually folks
with something to say. I hated to be so rude and I put that hate on the
loitering fella. As time passed and Erik and I got used to my having a chatty
Charlie under the tent with me, Erik loosened his standards for worry and would
drive by slowly and raise his eyebrows at me, silently questioning if I needed
him to play bouncer. I would usually smile and Erik’s eyebrows would drop and
his whole face would soften and he would roll his eyes and speed by.
As more
time passed and Erik began to recognize my fleet of suitors, he began antagonizing me. He would ask me about my "boyfriends", point out their nerdy characteristics, and worst of all he would sometimes stand behind them and pretend to
fight them or imitate their body-language and movements as they told me about
the time they spent in grad school. Sometimes I could not hold it and I would laugh
out loud during their boring story and a look of confusion and an anxious smile would spread across their face. They would follow my eyes and
turn around to find Erik stoically unloading tomatoes. On days when Erik was
busy, he would simply drive by slowly, spraying an invisible can of bug spray
to ward off my pesky admirer, making a “Ppffffftt” sound with his lips as he
rolled by. Sometimes he would stop the truck and say, "Laurita! You need bug spray?" and then he'd laugh and speed away. "Bug spray" became our code word and all it took was a quick phone call to Erik, "Hey! Could you bring me some bug spray?" and within moments a dozen dark-haired heads would pop up out of nearby fields and stare down the nuisance until he got uncomfortable and left.
The Mexicans always had me laughing and the job itself was so peaceful and stress free. I loved being outside and watching things grow and knowing a thing or two about nature. The days when I'd join in with harvesting goods, I'd be so tired and sleep so soundly and everything felt as it should be. My silly job selling vegetables on the side of the road surrounded by happy, hard-working people taught me the joy of simplicity and I haven't been the same since.
Speaking of which...
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