Mis amigos

Artemio Lopez hills a row of vegetables.

The rooster calls; the sun glances over the glacialcarved basin bringing signs of daybreak to the plateau above. Down in the ravine an orange tractor creeps between earthen rows; Artemio Medrano Lopez manages the wheel. Seated aboard a mechanical planter hitched in tow, coworker Luis Ramirez Alvarado feeds seed potatoes into the hopper.

The song of the diesel engine beats with the song of the cardinal and of the swallows as here in a soccer-field-size stretch of old creek bed, beans and garlic; peppers, onions, cilantro, squash and corn emerge from newly turned ground. For Luis and Artemio, the hours of the day will fill out to near evening with work in the garden and in the vineyard that slopes to the creek that runs free. Tomorrow the men will shift over to a vineyard on Closson Road where their work week is shared.

In late October of each year Luis and Artemio appear at the local offices of the ‘Secretaria del Tabajo y Prevencion Social’ in their respective villages in Mexico. Here they report their return from working in Canada and apply for repeat work the following season. The records show where they have been employed in this country and likely show a request for their re-engagement at the same site. In the new year the men will receive confirmation of work here and will follow up with a medical check and then weeks later a threehour bus trip to the central office of the ‘Secretaria’ in Mexico City. They complete work permit and temporary visa papers and receive confirmation of the window of time— from six weeks up to eight months—that they are permitted to work in our country.

Returning to their homes, the men prepare for the call to depart in early April. For Artemio, his siblings and parents each have a house on a shared parcel of land where corn is grown on a patch of clay and sand; where cows and chickens, donkeys and sheep roam freely and where there is no ‘Nintendo’ or ‘Game Boy’ or electronics for children who play out-of-doors at soccer and ‘canicas’— marbles. They have no cars or trucks, but soon the men will leave; bid adios to spouses and children, parents, neighbours and friends as they board buses and planes to work abroad.

For the migrant workers—men and women —it is a hard choice, yet a way of life to forsake their native countries in search of income. The alternative is to stay behind and work as Luis and his wife do from their home, assembling garments as paid piecework: or like Artemio, to find hourly work on an auto parts assembly line or in a cardboard manufacturing plant. Work for meagre pesos.

Gone for two-thirds of the year, many like Luis and Artemio arrive in Canada for what they see as an opportunity to better their families’ chances. If the rain prevents them from working on the land on certain days, as in our recent weather, they don’t get paid. The workers will attempt to make up the shortfall of income with indoor work or extra hours or wait for work in the corn harvest on their return to Mexico in the fall.

The number of migrant workers in Canada has increased by 70 per cent in the last five years. Under the Migrant Farm Workers Project, close to 18,000 workers from Mexico and the Caribbean, 90 per cent of total migrant farm workers in Canada, will fill the labour gap in the food economy of Ontario. Many of the workers are supplied by private recruiters. As production from the soil increases here in Prince Edward so will the demand for dependable labour.

There are many stories of the interdependent relationships and friendships that have been fostered through the exchange. Quite simply, a farm or vineyard owner could not survive were it not for the availability of a workforce that, with a tally of accommodation and air fares factored in, is more costly to employ than a Canadian.

Luis Alvarado tends to the vines in a vineyard in Hillier.

Migrant workers, while living away from families take on hard physical labour through summer heat, mosquitoes and rain. They receive the minimum hourly wage, which is far above most available work back home. They pay federal and provincial taxes as well as contribute to the Employment Insurance Fund and Canada Pension Plan while they benefit little. They are our neighbours for a good part of the year but the nature of what they do—working long hours living in rural settings and culturally isolated—makes them largely invisible to many of us.

The workers have a reputation for ‘soft hands’—fruits and vegetables they handle are rarely damaged. Artemio has worked the market gardens of St. Hyacinthe, Quebec, the raspberry and blueberry farms of Abbotsford, B.C. while Luis has laboured on the tomato lands and in the grape patches of Leamington and the Niagara belt of Ontario. In the past, the men, now both in their early ’40s, have worked separately in the regions, living for the most part in migrant worker complexes housing up to 120 people. But in the last few years, fate has brought them together. Luis and Artemio are afforded the small luxury of working as a team of two while living in an outfitted Airstream trailer along the banks of Hillier’s Slab Creek.

The days are long, yet the men will take all of the hours that are offered. To earn is the reason they are here. The work week is sixand- a-half days, with Sunday afternoon off and a break every two weeks where they are transported or will cycle to town to run personal errands.

The international population of our region, which includes the workforce from Guatemala and Honduras who work on two-year contracts at the Highline mushroom plant in Wellington, frequent Quinte Global Foods in Belleville. Here long distance phone cards are renewed, money is transferred home and shelves are choc-abloc with goods familiar to varying palettes. For Luis and Artemio the visit to the store is also to stock up on corn tortillas for Sunday afternoons when a siesta, a made-from-scratch meal and phone calls to families in Mexico round out the week.

The lives of our family and friends have been enriched through knowing Luis and Artemio over the years. We have learned their traditions, their values…the names of their children. They teach us Spanish while we help them with English. A picnic at North Beach where they have learned to swim; a soccer game and barbecue on a Sunday afternoon are a part of shared experiences.

On one recent Sunday we sat on the porch, ‘mis amigos’ and I. We talked about nothing until reminded of the date on the calendar. For Luis and Artemio, ‘cumpleanos, anivevsarios y festivals’—birthdays, anniversaries and festivals— are for the most part missed. Except for this day: on this day we thought to clink our bottles of ‘cerveza’—beer—and to call a toast, our hopes for families near and afar. For this day was ‘Felice dia del papa’ —Fathers Day.

The rains come, the corn grows and then the harvest. Before they return to their families in Mexico, ‘mis amigos’ Artemio and Luis will join their extended Canadian family. All of us will sit at the long table at Jeanie and Steve’s place: the farm owner, the vineyard keeper and workers dedicated to the land have shown us the true meaning of Thanksgiving.