Summer on the Farm

It was a rite of passage for the Hurley kids to spend a summer working on Uncle Curtis’ farm. Dad would have a Memorial Day BBQ with the whole family. Just hot dogs and beers for the grown-ups. Curtis would come up all laughing and joking around, then he’d squeeze your bicep to decide if you were ready.

My older brothers and sisters who spent summers on the farm didn’t talk about it much. Sometimes Heather would complain about her calluses, but dad hated complainers. “Hard work builds character,” he’d say. Nobody argued with dad.

Whoever Curtis took with him would be gone until Labor Day. They’d come back real tan and different looking. Something in their eyes. They looked more like grown-ups. I was jealous because I was tired of staying home with the little kids. None of them could talk yet and their hands are always sticky.

The summer when I was chosen started off different then I imagined. Curtis was working the grill when my cousin, Christian came up for his third hot dog. Curtis asked him to make a muscle. He grabbed Chris’ bicep and said, “Wow, big man.” Then he told him to pack a bag.

“What about me?” I asked.

“Yeah, okay. You can come too.”

That was it?

I held up my arm hoping to get the same kind of attention, but Curtis just ruffled my hair and handed me his empty beer can.

That night I couldn’t sleep. Mom told me to pack light. Just my clothes and a toothbrush. I guessed they’d have everything else when I got there.

Early the next morning when it was still dark, Curtis picked us up in a delivery truck. He made us get in the back. There were no windows, and it was really hot in there. We couldn’t make any noise. He wouldn’t even let us out to take a piss. We had to do it in soda bottles.

Chris looked scared. I thought maybe I was tougher than him after all. We didn’t know how long the trip was, but I was sure I’d missed a couple of meals. The truck eventually stopped. We heard Curtis talking to some people outside. We couldn’t understand what they were saying, but we could hear the scratch of their shoes on the gravel.

When the doors swung open, the burst of light made it impossible to see. Curtis helped us out of the truck while my eyes began to adjust. I saw three armed men, their automatic weapons pointed at the ground.

Curtis got a real kick out of the frightened looks on our faces because he nearly choked laughing so hard. Christian was already crying.

“Aw, you boys don’t have to worry. This here’s our security. They ain’t gonna hurt you unless you run.” He laughed again and the other men joined in.

The plants on this farm were not in neat rows but scattered around what felt like a jungle with tons of mosquitoes. There were other kids working there too. Some younger, some older, but nobody over twelve. We took the harvested plants back to the shed to dry and process them. We did everything. It smelled weird, but we got used to the smell.

At night we slept on cots in the shed. It was dirty and disgusting. They fed us nothing but beans and baloney sandwiches. We didn’t have bathrooms, just a hose at the back of the shed. It was stupid to complain because whatever you’d get as punishment was worse than whatever you were complaining about. None of us dared to run either. We just had to hold out until school started again.

When it was time to go home, they loaded us back into the delivery truck. I’d never been so relieved. I missed my mom. I even missed my dad and my siblings. The truck stopped. I heard scuffling outside. When the doors opened to the blinding light, the first faces I saw belonged to the police. My dad and Uncle Curtis were lying on the ground in handcuffs. They were arrested for drug trafficking.

I didn’t know what that meant, so I asked the policewoman if I was in trouble.

“No, honey, but you’d better get some rest. You’ve got school tomorrow.”