My Seedie Life (eBook)

SOIL

“Soil is an almost magical substance, a living system that transforms the materials it encounters.”

— George Monbiot

“Essentially, all life depends upon the soil.”

— Charles E. Kellogg

The Azores

I consider the Azores as my “soil.” I am Portuguese with my ancestors’ roots on both sides firmly planted in the Azores Islands; Pico on my mother’s side and Sao Jorge on my father’s side. My ancestors immigrated to California in the late 1920’s and settled in Sacramento in the northern part of the state where both of my parents were born and raised.

My dad was fluent in Portuguese, but he raised us to speak English. He did not want us to have the difficulties he had when first joining school, not being fluent in English. Oh, I learned a couple words in Portuguese, but certainly nothing of the sort to carry on any kind of conversation, meaningful or otherwise. Even though my dad understood Portuguese well, he chose to speak English. It made for some amusing conversations whenever we visited our great-grandmother. Her language was Portuguese, and she felt we should all understand; and my dad was strong in believing that since we are in the US, English should be spoken. My dad and his grandmother would carry on a conversation with one another; she would speak Portuguese, and he would answer in English.

Despite the number of places, I’ve traveled to, strangely enough, I’ve never been to The Azores. My global business travel never landed me there, nor has my personal travels. When I was at my height of international travel, I was too busy, and now that I’m officially retired from the company and on to other endeavors, I hope to find my way there someday. But then again, a strong work ethic is something the Portuguese are known for. And indeed, my family is no exception.

The culture reflects a talent for working together to make things happen. No doubt, a desire to achieve and a spirit of cooperation infuses everything they do. Celebrating family and community are their bedrocks, both of which were instilled in me and my siblings at a very young age.

In fact, it was both, family and community, that were at the heart of the Portuguese celebrations that we used to attend growing up. “Festas” are religious celebrations by nature, honoring Queen Isabel of Portugal (also known as “Saint Elizabeth”) and her life-long dedication to the poor as she established orphanages and provided shelter to the homeless. The Festas are huge gatherings of families and friends, often numbering in the hundreds, highlighted by parades, church services, music, dancing, and plenty of food.

Wine and beer were provided for the adults and, as I remember it, an orange drink was provided for the kids and those who preferred drinking something other than alcohol. I witnessed tough, hardworking, self-guarded, people letting their guard down, appreciating others and having a great time. Those feelings of solidarity, community, and celebrating life together left a permanent impression on me as a kid.

Festas are typically held from April through June, the first week of the Pentecost traditionally mark their beginning. When we were young, we always attended the celebrations in Sacramento as well as the Festas in Gridley, California. I distinctly remember gathering in the Portuguese hall there, then proceeding to the Church, then returning to the Portuguese hall for the celebration which always included Sopas on the menu; a traditional Portuguese dish made with meat, carrots, cabbage and spices, and simmered for hours until the spices completely infuse the broth and the meat literally falls apart. It’s then generously poured into a large pan over French bread until the bread is entirely saturated.

This tradition lives on in our family today. Some may refer to Sopas as “soggy bread”. I take that as a compliment, however, because as a Portuguese, I know that even the hint of a dry spot on the bread is considered a reject.

Another tradition is the Portuguese Sweet Bread. In our family traditionally baked during Easter, where an egg is placed in the center of a small amount of dough and some rolled dough over the egg symbolizing an Easter basket. More typically we would roll the dough in between our hands and tie it into a knot, for it to rise before baking. The tradition continues from my mother, then to me, then to our daughters, and now we’re teaching our grandchildren.

Traditions and values, like a strong work ethic and a healthy respect for your elders served as the foundation of our home life that my parents instilled in us.

With age and my life’s experiences in mind, I built upon the belief of earning my keep and, the importance of ingenuity, integrity, hard work and an appreciation of others. Life is better for all when you, “Earn your keep”. https://friendsofourcommunity.com

Yuba City, California

Sutter County, California is known for its rich agricultural history. It’s located in the northern part of the state, deep in the Sacramento Valley and situated along the Sacramento River which forms its western boundary. It was just outside of Yuba City where our family farm sat and where my brothers and sisters and I were born and raised. We farmed 300 (and sometimes more than 500) acres depending upon how much land my dad decided to acquire and/or rent.

Before my siblings and I were old enough to go out into the fields to provide any valuable help to dad, we spent our days with our mother who taught us the everyday tasks we would need when we went out on our own. We helped her wash dishes, clean the house, iron clothes, do the laundry, and cook. I remember her warning us, “I’m not always going to be here to take care of you. You better know how to do this stuff when you’re on your own.” Whenever we weren’t happy about it, she’d tell us, “You will get happy in the same pants you got sad in,” meaning you might be sad now, but you’ll get over it soon. To this day, I’m thankful for my mother’s support and foresight.

When I was five years old, my sisters and I were playing outside. They were throwing rocks, and I got in the crossfire. One of the rocks hit me in the eye and caused some hemorrhaging which blinded me for a period of time. After spending a few days in the hospital, the doctor required me to stay calm and keep my head down as my eye healed—a tall order for a five-year-old boy—so my mother taught me how to knit in order to focus my efforts. Over the course of several weeks, I knitted more than my fair share of coat hanger covers.

Our parents made sure we were involved in community activities like 4-H and the Future Farmers of America (FFA). I took cooking lessons and showed cattle at the local fair and at the Cow Palace in San Francisco as well. Music played a part in my early years too. I learned how to play the harmonica, which I still play to this day (somewhat). I wish I had something to show for the piano lessons I took. The best I can say is that I committed to memory one of those rudimentary songs for beginners which I can play till today.

When I was around seven, I ventured out into the fields to help my dad. I remember, he modified our Case tractor that we were using as a scraper to level land where we planned to build a new house. The modification consisted of adding blocks to the pedals so I could reach them. I was just thrilled to have my first job driving a tractor. Little did either of us know at that time that the little boy whose feet couldn’t reach the tractor pedals would one day be director of global operations for one of the largest agriculture corporations in the world.

Out in the fields, my dad taught us, by example as well as by sayings, that I’ve taken with me throughout my career and personal life. He instilled in us a strong work ethic and an intolerance for laziness. Whenever he’d see a person sitting around others that were working, my dad would point him out to us saying “That guy is not afraid of work. He’ll sit down right next to it.” My dad would emphatically add, “Always be helpful, never be that guy.”

My dad taught us how to assess, create, and deliver a plan. And in order to achieve any degree of success in life, my dad taught us to treat people fairly, to always be honest with others, to say what you mean, and do what you say, in everyday life and in every day of your life. To work alongside of him, you would be tired at the end of that day.

He taught us how to work with wood and metal, how to trouble shoot or wire a car, a truck, or a house. We learned quickly how to drive all kinds of farm equipment including tractors, forklifts, backhoes, and eighteen-wheeler trucks. We learned all about electricity, hydraulics, cutting, and welding - enabling us to modify or build our own equipment whenever we needed to.

In addition to the paddy rice we grew, the farm consisted of prune and peach trees and vegetable seed crops like watermelon, cantaloupe, squash, and cucumbers. We extracted the seeds and left the rest of the crop in the field to decay into compost. We eventually owned our own seed washer and dryer for the cucurbit crops. I remember we would come home from school and buck sacks of seed from the field to the truck. My father or one of my brothers-in-law would drive the truck to the washer, and we would transfer the sacks into bins. As I got older, I drove the truck myself and, as time went on, we adapted the equipment to place the seed directly into bins for transportation. Running the seed washer and dryer became one of my responsibilities on the farm. When the seed arrived, my dad would...