Hello @riverflows,
I don't know where to begin. I'll start with the thought behind the story, which for me is always more important even than style. People who pick fruit. The invisible ones. Not the only invisible ones in society, but ubiquitous across the world. My grandfather was a farmer, and employed seasonal migrant workers. Even as a child I was impressed with their dreadful living conditions. And their children, who would disappear from school every winter. Children who were always at the bottom of the class in skill achievement.
The appeal for justice behind your story struck me most strongly. But would I have heard that appeal clearly if your skill in presenting it had been less? No.
Glad to see you here. So many wonderful things (I love the fact, for instance, that you emphasize the role of women as powerful life givers) to speak about. Let me say, as I have before about your writing, you know the craft and you use it well to achieve your purpose.
Hope to see a story from you soon, again.
Thanks so much @agmoore. There were so many threads in this story that magically came together, and I would have loved more time to explore the workers and the migrants which I could hardly give enough credit in such a short work. I was listening to an audio about mushroom pickers in America that are often from places like Laos and how they are very much fringe dwellers. There's a whole 'industry' that is separate from, say, working for 'the man' picking fruit from a farm, say, in season. There's so much more I wanted to add and write, but I'm thrilled you picked up some of the main themes that I was weaving through. Gah, this story begs to be bigger.