NPR had a long story today about farmworkers in California's San Joaquin Valley who cannot feed their families the fresh and healthy food they pick for others. The work is seasonal. Paychecks run about $170 a week. Adding to the food insecurity is the absence of a regular grocery store in the small town in which the workers live. Their only access to food is a mini-mart.
I wondered how that would feel, picking beautiful fresh produce and watching every piece move out of your hands while you know your children are hungry. I'm certain there are "rules" that prevent workers from eating or pocketing the produce. I'm sure there is a route for every harvested item…fresh produce grocery for the pretty ones; frozen, canned or other product for items less than perfect.
And here I sit, eating a beautiful pear from Oregon…the kind of perfect pear that is picked and packaged in it's own little nest and gifted at holiday time. Did hungry hands pick my pear? Here I sit reading today's Daily Lectionary on my iPad, typing on my computer. Here I sit reading psalms of praise, stories of sin, promises of God's power over evil. And I think about the package of fresh spinach in my frig that is questionable. I bought it several days ago, fully intending to eat it in the next couple of days. Schedules interrupted. If I don't cook it tonight, it will be bad. Perhaps it is already too late. And in the San Joaquin Valley there is a farm worker's wife who would celebrate that food as if a wedding banquet. For pete's sake, I feed my dog healthy, fresh food.
"…and the people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil."
The light hurts. I wish I hadn't heard the story. I wish my spinach wasn't rotting in my frig. I wish I lived close to that family. I wish I knew the families close to me who are hungry.
I wish, oh how I wish, that farm workers could take produce home for their families at the end of the work day.
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