There were a couple of guys that worked at the orchard next to my house in Monkton. I saw them every weekday in the fall, picking and loading apples into an old pickup and driving past my house, a couple of miles to the cider house. My neighbors told me they were from Jamaica. I always meant to introduce myself, say hello, maybe offer them a beer after a long day. I never did, mostly because I couldn't walk confidently into the orchard or converse confidently once I got there.
No comments:
Post a Comment