think of more questions.
We rode in silence.
We had climbed the incline at the south end of Christmas Valley, crested Luther Pass, and headed down toward the floor of Hope Valley, which sits at 7000 feet. We turned right at Pickett’s Junction and climbed up toward Carson Pass at 8600 feet.
As we approached the crest, we drove above the snow level from the recent precipitation. The high forest already had a foot of snow, the beginning of what usually turns out to be a huge snowpack by the end of the season.
The plows had been busy, and the road, while slushy, was easily passable.
“Where do Europeans live?” Paco suddenly said.
“Europe. If you go east across this country, you get to the Atlantic Ocean. Europe is a bunch of countries on the other side of the Atlantic. Why do you ask?”
“Cassie says that tomatoes are the most popular fruit in the world. She says that Europeans made them popular. Spaghetti sauce and stuff.”
“Makes sense,” I said.
“But Europeans got tomatoes from the Indians,” Paco said.
“You mean, our Indians? Our Native Americans?”
“Yeah.”
“You know any Indians?”
“I have an Indian friend named Yoku. He’s from the Miwok Tribe.”
“He a tomato expert?”
Paco shook his head. “He knows all about acorns.”
“And you know about tomatoes.”
Paco nodded.
I added, “And you know lots about fruits and vegetables. That proves you’re smart. You just know different stuff than what other people know.”
Paco turned away and stared out the window. “Any farmer knows that stuff. I still can’t read.”
“You’ll learn to read,” I said.
Paco didn’t react. He still faced the window glass, but I didn’t think he was seeing anything outside.
“What do you do with the Field-To-Fridge deliveries?”
Paco was still staring out the side window. “I sort the bags and baskets. Then we take them inside. I count out the fruit for each client. Cassie makes the arrangements in the baskets. She says it’s an art like with flowers. She says I can start doing arrangements when I’m older. But now she’s shot. So I guess I won’t be helping.”
I didn’t want him to focus on what happened to Cassie. “You help grow the tomatoes and peppers, too?”
“Yeah.”
“Are the crops all done by the time school starts? Or does Cassie take over after you go back to school?”
“Hothouse crops go until Thanksgiving. I still have to do my chores. Before school. After school, too.”
“So you have a lot of work to do while you’re going to school,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“Must make it kinda hard to focus on learning to read,” I said, “when you’ve got all those chores to do.”
Paco stared out the window. “Sometimes I skip school.”
“To goof off with your friends? Or do the farm chores.”
“Chores. That’s how I make money.”
From the top of Carson pass, we wound down past Caples Lake to Kirkwood Ski Resort, on out to Silver Lake, and then followed the long, high ridge down out of the snow to the foothills and the Gold Country town of Jackson. By the time we got to the Central Valley floor, what had seemed like low clouds were now high in the sky and made a general gray blanket far above us. The roads were moist, but the rain had stopped. The sun poked through in places and made the roads steam.
“What are your responsibilities in growing the tomatoes and peppers?”
It was a bit before he spoke. “Just all the planting stuff.”
“Like?”
“I plant the seeds for the starter plants. In the hothouse. I set the timers on the grow lights.”
“That all?” I said.
“I replant the starters in the spring. Usually, some of the drip lines break during winter. I have to fix them. I use Cassie’s secret chart to fertilize the plants. I set the irrigation settings as the seedlings grow.”
“Wait. What does that mean? Cassie’s secret chart?”
“She says it’s her secret weapon.”
“How does it work?” I asked.
“The chart says
We rode in silence.
We had climbed the incline at the south end of Christmas Valley, crested Luther Pass, and headed down toward the floor of Hope Valley, which sits at 7000 feet. We turned right at Pickett’s Junction and climbed up toward Carson Pass at 8600 feet.
As we approached the crest, we drove above the snow level from the recent precipitation. The high forest already had a foot of snow, the beginning of what usually turns out to be a huge snowpack by the end of the season.
The plows had been busy, and the road, while slushy, was easily passable.
“Where do Europeans live?” Paco suddenly said.
“Europe. If you go east across this country, you get to the Atlantic Ocean. Europe is a bunch of countries on the other side of the Atlantic. Why do you ask?”
“Cassie says that tomatoes are the most popular fruit in the world. She says that Europeans made them popular. Spaghetti sauce and stuff.”
“Makes sense,” I said.
“But Europeans got tomatoes from the Indians,” Paco said.
“You mean, our Indians? Our Native Americans?”
“Yeah.”
“You know any Indians?”
“I have an Indian friend named Yoku. He’s from the Miwok Tribe.”
“He a tomato expert?”
Paco shook his head. “He knows all about acorns.”
“And you know about tomatoes.”
Paco nodded.
I added, “And you know lots about fruits and vegetables. That proves you’re smart. You just know different stuff than what other people know.”
Paco turned away and stared out the window. “Any farmer knows that stuff. I still can’t read.”
“You’ll learn to read,” I said.
Paco didn’t react. He still faced the window glass, but I didn’t think he was seeing anything outside.
“What do you do with the Field-To-Fridge deliveries?”
Paco was still staring out the side window. “I sort the bags and baskets. Then we take them inside. I count out the fruit for each client. Cassie makes the arrangements in the baskets. She says it’s an art like with flowers. She says I can start doing arrangements when I’m older. But now she’s shot. So I guess I won’t be helping.”
I didn’t want him to focus on what happened to Cassie. “You help grow the tomatoes and peppers, too?”
“Yeah.”
“Are the crops all done by the time school starts? Or does Cassie take over after you go back to school?”
“Hothouse crops go until Thanksgiving. I still have to do my chores. Before school. After school, too.”
“So you have a lot of work to do while you’re going to school,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“Must make it kinda hard to focus on learning to read,” I said, “when you’ve got all those chores to do.”
Paco stared out the window. “Sometimes I skip school.”
“To goof off with your friends? Or do the farm chores.”
“Chores. That’s how I make money.”
From the top of Carson pass, we wound down past Caples Lake to Kirkwood Ski Resort, on out to Silver Lake, and then followed the long, high ridge down out of the snow to the foothills and the Gold Country town of Jackson. By the time we got to the Central Valley floor, what had seemed like low clouds were now high in the sky and made a general gray blanket far above us. The roads were moist, but the rain had stopped. The sun poked through in places and made the roads steam.
“What are your responsibilities in growing the tomatoes and peppers?”
It was a bit before he spoke. “Just all the planting stuff.”
“Like?”
“I plant the seeds for the starter plants. In the hothouse. I set the timers on the grow lights.”
“That all?” I said.
“I replant the starters in the spring. Usually, some of the drip lines break during winter. I have to fix them. I use Cassie’s secret chart to fertilize the plants. I set the irrigation settings as the seedlings grow.”
“Wait. What does that mean? Cassie’s secret chart?”
“She says it’s her secret weapon.”
“How does it work?” I asked.
“The chart says
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