American Beauty

Last Wednesday around 5 PM Stoker and I were getting ready for our evening ritual of self medicating with a mood elevating, muscle relaxing beverage in order to watch the news of the day without getting apoplectic. The doorbell rang, and we assumed it was simply another of the endless stream of Amazon deliveries that find their way to Brumby Road. I halted my pharmaceutical preparations and went to bring in Diane’s latest purchase.

I was in for a surprise. There was a woman at the door, masked up. I opened the door and stared at her, thinking she looked familiar. When I heard her gentle voice, with a light Spanish accent, say “Hello Richard, do you remember me?” I knew instantly who she was.

Her name is not important and I’m going to respect her privacy. Let’s call her Ms. Mi Hermana. If I had a sister I would want her to be someone like the woman standing on my front porch. I was very happy to see her. It had been a long time, at least a dozen years.

Years ago, when my father and I were still farming, we finally decided that running our own cherry picking crew was too onerous a task, so we hired a contractor. This relationship worked out quite well for many years until we retired from farming. Ms. Hermana worked for the contractor as the ‘checker’. She kept track of how many boxes of cherries each employee filled and got paid for. My job was the ‘swamper’, which means I loaded the boxes onto the trailer and picked up empties and moved ladders and loaded bins onto our truck to deliver to the packing shed.

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Since Ms. Hermana and I worked side by side for many hours, we got to know each other quite well. She spoke excellent English which she was constantly, and needlessly, apologizing for. I tried to use my high school Spanish with her whenever possible. We got along great. Her husband was one of the pickers, and when there was time between our swamping rounds she would go help him for a few minutes. He is a handsome man with a beautiful voice, and sometimes while he was working he would sing something quite lovely, in Spanish of course.

After quick assurances that we had all been vaccinated, she took off her mask and we shared a big non-social distancing hug. Diane came out to say hi, another hug, and we invited her into the house for a visit.

Ms. Hermana was looking lovely as always. She was well dressed and driving a very nice red SUV. And she was bearing gifts: homemade tortillas!

When Diane was working we had a housekeeper, a wonderful Portuguese woman who came every week except for summers when she worked in a cannery. We hired Ms. Hermana to fill in for a couple of months. And occasionally Ms. Hermana would bring us some of the most delicious Mexican food I have ever enjoyed. Homemade tortillas, rice and beans, chili rellenos, and some incredible tamales, made with pieces of potato in the filling. Goodbye diet when this food was delivered.

So we were both glad to see Ms. Hermana. What follows is a little difficult to write. Diane says she got teary, and I have to admit I was quite moved. Ms. Hermana wanted to thank me.

She said that when we worked together I always encouraged her and that I told she had lots of opportunities to do something other than work the crops. I vaguely recall this. Her English was so good, and she was smart and conscientious and honest. She would make someone a great employee. But Ms. Hermana went on and on about how good it was to work for us and how nice and fair we were to our employees and how if I said she could do something different, and perhaps better, maybe she really could. It was actually a bit difficult to hear this. Her success is hers, not mine.

She told us a bit more about what had happened in the 12 years since Diane and I both retired and had no more need for housekeepers or cherry contractors. Her life path has been an ascendant one. With some setbacks, some problems, but mostly toward more prosperity and success. She was hired by the State of California, first as a temporary and then given a second contract. Ms. Hermana is quite intelligent and educated but she lacks a college degree that would be a ticket to full time government employment. But finally even the bureaucracy decided to do something sensible and accept her work experience in lieu of a sheepskin. Ms. Hermana is now a full time State Employee working with youth services, trying to help troubled young people stay in school or find work and stay out of trouble.

And she is also a brand new U.S. Citizen. She had resident alien status ever since I met her, which means she could stay in the U.S. without any restrictions. But she took the trouble to apply and pass the test and meet the requirements and take the oath. Now she is an American Beauty, by way of Mexico. I welcome her with a big hug.

I don’t know if we will see Ms. Hermana again. But if we do I hope she favors us with some more of those tortillas.