In Support of Child Labor

Kids on the farm. Communing with nature. Connecting with the source of their food. Frolicking with lambs, piglets, and chicks that may someday grace their dinner table.

Okay, not in my world. We fall somewhat short of that idyllic picture. I have to admit that I prefer to be by myself when I head to the farm. It’s wrong, I know. Part of the reason I’ve stayed a CSA member so long is in pursuit of that description above. But, man, is it more relaxing when I’m solo!

I had such good intentions on one particular ill-fated outing to the farm with all three of my kids. We have work days on one Saturday a month at Turner Farm. It’s a good time to make up hours and work on bigger tasks with other sharers. Usually, there’s a good job for kids. Well, this work day, it was a nice cool morning and the kid-friendly task was harvesting potatoes. The farm has a horse-drawn cultivator that brings the potatoes to the surface and it’s an easy, if not dusty, job to collect the potatoes just sitting there in the upturned soil. Great job for little hands.

Or so I heard. We didn’t quite make it to that first potato harvest. We (myself and my three, five, and seven-year-old kids) went to the second potato harvest. Happened to be on the hottest, most humid night of last summer. And, in a serious lapse of judgment, I did not bring a drop of water. The potato field is, of course, one of the farthest fields from the produce shed and the water faucet. Within seconds of stepping out of the air-conditioned van, we were covered with sweat. Within minutes, we were covered with mud, as the dust from the fields settled on us. The whining commenced. And continued for the entire time we were in that field. Other sharers harvesting potatoes gradually moved further and further away from me and my mud-streaked pack. I cajoled, encouraged, threatened, bribed. And eventually gave up. When we returned home, looking like a family of migrant farm workers, my husband had an ‘I told you so’ look about him, but wisely kept quiet. So much for that vision of my kids enjoying the productive and meaningful task of harvesting their own food. Did I mention I tend to be a romantic?

We’re making progress, though. My daughter attended a day-camp at Turner Farm this summer and loved it, even though she worked hard feeding animals, planting, harvesting. (By the way, I think it’s a brilliant move on the farm’s part to have us pay to have our kids work for them. I’m all for it!) The older they get and the more exposure they get to the produce, to being on the farm - it’s all good. The fact that my son actually asks for okra (okay, fried okra, but still!) brings a smile to my face. I just need to adjust my expectations and appreciate that any exposure to good food, soil, and fresh air is beneficial.