What do you think of when you see, hold, smell and taste an orange?
When I see, hold, smell and taste a succulent orange I recognize beauty, sunshine, citrus, and nourishment. There is a deep sense of appreciation for how it was made by the Earth, how it came into my hands, its taste and healthy benefits.
On a beautiful October morning, my dear friend Mayra, Dan (my husband) and I clipped oranges from our prosperous tree in the back yard. The citrus was to be donated to Santa Ynez Valley People Helping People, a non-profit in which Mayra serves as the Chief Program Officer. I was in wonderful company and knew the benefit of our labor was two-fold: the oranges would be given to families in need within our community and harvesting the oranges would support the tree’s continual health. Yay!
One by one, as I clipped each orange from its umbilical stem, its gentle weight would rest momentarily in my hand, the aroma would fill my nostrils, and the peel’s dimpled texture would be obvious to my eyes. As each orange went from my hand to the growing bundles in the crates, my experience became visceral. Orange by orange, I connected to my mother and her side of the family - when they worked in the fruit fields.
My mother’s side of the family is Mexican-American. The full break-down is: Spanish, Mexican and Native American. (I’ll only share my mother’s side as it relates to this blog). My mother was born in New Mexico and was the youngest of seven. At some point, the family moved to Orange Cove, a city in Fresno County, California. With its Mediterranean climate, it served as an ideal location to grow citrus and still does. Per the census in 2019, Hispanics or Latinos still comprise a large part of the population at 92.7%, many of them farmers.
My mother’s family did not own a farm but they did work in the fields. My mother hated it. Stories told to my sister and I of working in the fields usually involved intense heat and mental and physical exhaustion. The money earned didn’t go the family, instead, it went to their father who spent it on what ever he wanted to. Some stories were filled with suspicion that it went to flatter my grandfather’s various girlfriends.
As far as I know, my grand parents never had their children exempted from school to solely work in the fields. As a result, all their children were literate and bilingual in Spanish and English. Mom was the first in her family to graduate from college and she later earned her master degree, after she was married with two children of her own. My mother used her education to make sure she never had to resort back to that way of life - of working in the fields. My mom had the drive and courage to push forward despite. She was a female, hispanic who worked predominantly in a white man’s world of education. My mother taught physical education for twenty plus years and later moved into administration as an education counselor. She loved what she did and would not have been able to do so without her degrees.
The idea of college, in my experience, felt forced upon my sister and I. Being that both of my parents were college educated, it was assumed that my sister and I would follow suit. College seemed to come more naturally to my sister than it did for me. If it was not for the various theater and dance programs I participated in while in college, I would have been adrift. I attended and completed college just to win my mother’s approval, to meet some invisible standard she had set for me. When I graduated I was so relieved to be done. I thought “Now, I can go on with the rest of my life.”
My mother’s mission was for my sister and I to have a different life. Though my mother pushed to provide my sister and I with a better life than what she was raised with, she envied us for it. I felt held in contempt for something she had consciously chosen to do. My mother hated her life growing up and that hate pushed her through school. I hated college and that hate pushed me through life until I assumed authority over my own happiness.
Fast forward to today. Today, in our diverse and intense political climate in which women and people of color are still fighting for equal rights, I know and understand that me being a nonwhite female who holds a college degree is significant. That document, which is stored in my file cabinet, elevates me enough to be privileged in various ways. My degree bares weight with people who use it as a means of evaluation. Culture automatically assumes me with higher abilities, interests and conversations. It makes me relatable to a larger group of people and certain ways of life more accessible than to those without a degree.
On that day, one orange at a time, as the cobwebs and ants dusted my skin, the awareness within grew. Gratitude resonated - vibrated - deep within me…because I am privileged.
Privileged to be able to enjoy the process of picking fruit; privileged because I don’t have to do it to earn a living; privileged because my parents valued a college education; privileged because my college education sets me apart in many ways I still do not yet recognize. As I gazed upon our collection of oranges, I was keenly aware of the depth of difference between my mother and I and was able to hold it with understanding, clarity and compassion for both her and I.
Santa Ynez Valley People Helping People was able to feed 650 people with the oranges from our tree and other produce the organization purchased.
People Helping People is the primary provider of human and social services in mid Santa Barbara County. The population of the Santa Ynez Valley has grown exponentially over recent years to over 30,000 residents. The area is also notable for its income disparities with more than 20% of the overall population living at or near Federal poverty levels. As of 2018, Santa Barbara County has one of the highest poverty rates in California and Hispanics make up more than 54% of its population.
To learn more about this amazing community serving organization, please visit: www.syvphp.org