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on other things, maybe the baby growing inside her, I don't know, We haven't had a good crop in three years,. Not since the .. being part of Arley's crowd I like so much, being on the . I brought up a pail of fire and Ma drank it. She had.
Table of contents
- Out of the Dust Summary
- A Kingdom from Dust — The California Sunday Magazine
- 10 Things You May Not Know About Richard Nixon
- Letters From the Dust Bowl
Three dogs, part pit bull, the menacing part, have given up on the shade and lie on the open road. Their tongues loll to their knees.
Out of the Dust Summary
I walk into the supermarket El Toro Loco, and the clerk directs me to the back office, where a tobacco-chewing Yemeni named Anthony Hussein is sitting beneath a photograph of an uncle in his U. Army uniform. The uncle died at age 22 fighting in Afghanistan. The aqueduct was built with tax money, yes? The aqueduct brings the water, yes?
So everybody should have it, right? But this is water for Mr. Not the people. Resnick are the same checks they bring in for years. I cash them the same.
A Kingdom from Dust — The California Sunday Magazine
Nothing changes. Big fish eat the small fish here.
Anything else I can help you with? He seems in a hurry. He guides me back into the main store with its displays of fresh fruit and vegetables, meats, cold cuts, and baked goods. The wall of Pacifico and ounce cans of Bud is rebuilt daily. I sit in my car and wait in the parking lot.
- West Wind Drift.
- Answering the Unanswerable Questions.
- Out of the Dust.
They arrive in Chevy trucks and Dodge vans and spill out in groups of four or five under the sweat-stained hats of the 49ers, Penn State, and the Yankees. Each face wears its own weary. The year-olds look like year-olds; the year-olds, like year-olds; the year-olds, like year-olds. Or at least this is what I can glean through the car window. I grab my notebook and walk up to one of the vans. Inside sits a young man named Pablo. The oldest of five children, he came from Mexico when he was He had no papers, like so many others, just an image of what this side of the border looked like.
When he was told there were fields upon fields, he did not believe there could be this many fields. That was eight or nine years ago. He works year-round for Wonderful. Pablo prunes and irrigates the almond and pistachio trees and applies the chemicals that cannot be applied by helicopter. She is here and there, but I have never seen her up close. She owns this place. Most everything that can be touched in this corner of California belongs to Wonderful. All but a handful come from Mexico. In the Wonderful fields, he tells me, at least 80 percent of the workers carry no documents or documents that are not real.
Rather, it is the authority vested in Wonderful that counts. It was Lynda who teamed up with the USDA to develop 21 new single-family homes and 60 new townhouses on a couple of acres of almonds that Wonderful tore out. Lynda built sidewalks and storm drains, the new park and community center, and repaved the roads.
He has come to El Toro Loco to cash his check and buy some beer.
10 Things You May Not Know About Richard Nixon
I follow him inside to a long line of workers that ends at a plastic window where Hussein sits on the other side, working the cash register like a teller at a race track. On the way out of the market, Pablo buys a case of Pacifico.
The Sotos made a name for themselves in Lost Hills by taking their taco trucks into the agricultural fields. Angelica, one of four sisters, runs the restaurant. Lynda assisted her with the design and color scheme but otherwise has remained hands-off. So far, Lynda has shown only patience.
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A restaurant built by Wonderful for the purpose of making the company town look better from the roadside may enjoy a more forgiving bottom line than, say, the Subway up the road. The grass is a color green on the verge of blue, and the cutouts for trees are razor etched. The 5. Even the community water tank is painted baby blue with a big sunflower. On the north end sits the Wonderful Soccer Field with its all-weather track, stadium lights, artificial turf, and giant yellow sunburst embossed at midfield.
The believer and the skeptic do their tussle inside my head. This is a park for the people, to give them a break from their hard lives.
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- Notable Books, Notable Lessons: Putting Social Studies Back in the K-8 Curriculum.
- To Prevent Another Dust Bowl, the US Must Sow the Right Seeds!
- Getting to Your Next Level.
Lost Hills finally has something to be proud about. This is an offering of cake handed down from king and queen to serfs. It is one more way to extend the brand. Each square-mile section is divided into blocks, and each block counts a precise number of rows. He turns out to be a kindly religious man whose short hair is dyed the black of shoe polish. Surely, no one does this better than Wonderful?
He explains that Wonderful has grown too big to hassle such precision. Let the smaller grower walk among his trees and farm by the row. Fussing with one input or another, he can produce 3, pounds of nuts an acre. Wonderful, by contrast, shoots for the middle. No picking of crop agitates the earth like the picking of almonds and pistachios. A plume of dust joins up with other plumes of dust until the sky over the valley turns sickly. By the eighth day of harvest, the sun is gone. Not that long ago, we used to time our sinus infections by the immense cloud of defoliants sprayed on the cotton fields at the end of Indian summer.
All this stirring up is a consequence of mechanization. Wages that used to go to workers stay in the pocket of the nut growers. Maybe not since the wheat barons has the income disparity between farmer and farmworker been greater. Growers a tenth the size of Resnick flee the dust in their Ferraris to their second houses in Carmel. I follow one of the engines of harvest as it rolls into an orchard like a tank.
Giant pincers manned by a single worker grab the tree by the throat and start shaking.
Letters From the Dust Bowl
For the next two or three seconds, the almonds pour down like hail. The vibration is a stunning piece of violence to behold. It moves in a wave from trunk to limb to nut and back down to earth. The jolt and shudder would tear out the roots of a lesser species. When the clamps let go of the trunk, 8, almonds, green outer shells wilted and partly opened, the meat inside a wooden womb, lie scattered on the flat dry earth.
The rain of almonds has moved on to the next tree. Once each tree has been shaken, the nuts are left on the ground for a few days to dry. I walk to another part of the orchard and watch phase two. In a swirl of dust, a worker atop a different machine is blowing the almonds from their spot beneath the trees to the middle of the row. I then move to the far side of the orchard, where another worker, riding a huge mower, is kicking up an even bigger cloud of dust.
He maneuvers down the middle of the row, sweeps up the dried almonds, and throws them into a catcher. The contents of each catcher, pounds of almond meat, are placed on a conveyor 20 feet high and dumped into a big-rig hauler for transport to the Wonderful processing plant. All told, nine men operating five machines will pick clean this orchard over the next four weeks.
And how will the Resnicks fare? Each tree produces 22 pounds of nuts. In the city of trees, I find a paved road with speed bumps that takes me to the harvest of pistachios. The bunches of chartreuse-tipped nuts hanging from antler branches never touch the ground. Two men sit inside separate cabins of a small tractor with pincers on one side and a catcher on the other.
One man drives and shakes the tree while the other man makes sure the clusters fall into the butterfly opening of the receiver. As the nuts pour down onto the roof of the catcher, the operator shifts the trough so that it becomes a conveyor belt. The continuous rattle feeds the nuts into a series of bins on the backside of the tractor. Unlike the almond, the pistachio is moist and combustible.