The neatly sectioned off plots of land that are gently painted with the colors of the rainbow, stretch beyond the horizon to where I can not see any further. Small gusts of wind here and there blow over the grassy plains of my hometown and down into the cities of California. In the city, deep cracks in the cement and high business buildings can be found. The buildings are organized with perfect structure and shadows that give citizens shade to relax under. I have never been granted with the opportunity to step inside one of the skyscrapers however. People from my side of town usually stay in the fields picking fruit, not in the cubicles writing the tax reports. Rumors that the big "fruit bosses" who direct our sales have their own conference room with gold plates, lavish flowers, fresh pastries, and computers. They live extravagant lives full of fortune, the exact opposite of what mine is. However, I am content with living on the farm because it's what I know best. Rows and rows of fruits and vegetables are carefully picked every day. California flourishes with lavish fruit and trees that are grown on the green hills where the hard working Californians, like my family, work together. The pit of the rich fruit slowly grows over time making its way into a new form of life where it will travel to new places and be used in multiple ways. The righteous fruit bears hardships never imagined when traveling from the farm to its destination. However, not all slowly grown fruit make it. On the roads where the dust carries and the turtles crawl, most rot from the inside out due to neglect and malnourishment. Single clouds float in the sky by themselves over the California grown grapes, guiding packs of travelers over the boarders. Each cloud is unique, some small and skinny while others are short and fluffy, but they all tell the same story and have a purpose.

     Migrants from different states, backgrounds, and families all make their way here, to the promise land. Rumors of our farms and jobs being taken over is the small talk that is all over school and the church. Why is everybody comin' to our state? Why do they think they can come settle on our land and take my earned job? During this, little rodents in the country side are kicked out of their homes by predators, forcing them to slowly make their way across the hot blacktop highways, in hope of finding the perfect habitat to start a family and build protection. Multiple species follow along as they move across the road, some at slower speeds than others, but they all end up in the same patch of trees and grass. Also, I have seen new people in my school as the weeks go on. What used to be classrooms of 10-15 students turned into 20-25. Some mornings I have even seen mothers sit out on the school steps, begging for education for their young. Our little neighborhood church is now growing at what seems to be a steady rate. I like meeting new faces, because it means that I get to have more friends to play with, but my father doesn't agree.
     Droplets of sweat trickle off of my brow while I pick peaches for my father in the field. I have never had to do this before, but my father fears that the travelers will take our fruit if we don't. The people who have lived in low income, small, farming communities, now have the privilege to roam anywhere in the our state. Families stacked on the backs of trucks are desperate for any type of work. Every sign that says "needed worker" has lines of fifty people behind it. The strangers are very different from the locals. Not to long ago, I was fired from my job at the shop because someone said they would work for cheaper. I don't understand how they could take our jobs. "Okies" they call them. Their clothes are worn, hair is long, and people even say that they smell like death. I've only see one from a distance, but never up close in person. I wonder what made them move our here, and where they came from? My father and old uncle Joe are furious knowing that dirty locals are sleeping on the side of their highways and using up resources. I'll do it f'r 60. I'll do it f'r 30. I'll work f'r small portions of food. He's aint a good worker, I'll get the job done better 'n quicker. The Okies and locals fought over everything whether it was food or jobs. As more and more people become workers on the farms, the competition for pay is quickly getting competitive. The selection of the new workers is like choosing your fruit to buy at the market, which one is the best and which one will last the longest. Look at the clothes. Look at the eyes. Them Okies are hungry people from dem travel, the fields are filled with fruit, those Okies are gonna steal. Old Uncle Sal just got fired from his job because some Okie would work for less. Uncle Sal is one of the best fruit pickers the California business has seen, a lazy Okie can't work the same way he did. Not a single foreigner should be allowed to come onto our land and take California. Panic and anger was spreading like the dust in the South. Every night, the California natives would go home to their families feeling frustration. Why are these dirty people doin' this to us? We needa start a riot! Women and the children tried to stay out of it, but the men wanted to get rid of the Okies as soon as possible. George John-Day, the hiring manager, has been avoiding all of his workers due to death threats in the growing communities . The California locals hate the Okies and want to get rid of them, even if it means violence. My father has been going to these meetings late at night when it gets dark. He tells me that it is just a bible study and not to worry, but I know it isn't. Talk of the men revolting has been passed around. In class, Charlie said that his dad leads meetings at night to plan something special. I don't want my dad to get caught up in violence, but with our lives in danger, I know there is nothing I can do.