These buckets were filled 100's of times in a day by a "gang" of apple pickers, and the dumped into enormous, rock-solid wooden crates. Every season, the same group of workers arrived at this apple farm from Jamaica; some made the trip for over 25 years. I visited them often; they were exceedingly friendly, always smiling, a bit shy, very polite, worked quite hard, and seemed to have a love for Life. Every year we had a warm reunion. I would bring my famous pumpkin-raisin muffins, and they would show me pictures of their families, and tell me all their news from home. We would sit in the warm sun, and someone always took off one of his many layers of flannel shirts and spread it on the ground for me to sit upon, and they would share their lunch with me. (They called me the "muffin angel.") At the end of the apple season they returned home, and most of them worked construction jobs. When the orchards were sold, they came no more. Every season, I feel a little pang of missing them; they were one of the highlights of my autumn.
(Note: tkaen in 2008)
Greetings! I'm from Connecticut (USA) Photography is one of my lifelong passions (others including gardening, woodworking, history, and being a part...
@girlie Thanks for appreciating the story as well as the photo Robin.x (I'll even tell you my "secret" to my insanely delicious muffins: I use canned squash instead of canned pumpkin, and golden raisins rather than the dark ones.) Ta Ta for now, Les x
Take care, Les x