From the archives: Picking plump pumpkins no treat

(Editor's note: This story was originally published in The Daily News on Sept. 27, 2008. It was part of Daily News reporter Tom Rivers’ multi-part farm labor series, which on Thursday was named among two finalists for the 2009 Mike Berger Award given out by Columbia University’s Graduate School of Journalism.)

BARRE — It looked like Root Brothers workers were just throwing a football around when I stopped by a pumpkin patch in Albion last year for a story about harvest help for local farms.

There were lines of workers flinging 10-pound pumpkins down the row, all leading to workers on a wagon, who placed the pumpkins in sturdy and tall cardboard bins.

It looked like a lot of fun.

I made a mental note a few months ago to call Robin Root, co-owner of the farm, in late September, asking for a chance in the pumpkin patch. I figured it would be a welcome change of pace from the grueling days with cabbage and cucumbers.

Robin said I could give it a shot. He said the workers would treat me well as long as I didn't have any bad tosses or drop any pumpkins. Basically, don't do anything to slow down the work and everyone will be happy.

Monday I got my chance and was riding the high from the Buffalo Bills' thrilling come-from-behind win on Sunday. I was ready to toss the pumpkins, figuring I could do a decent impersonation of Bills QB Trent Edwards.

But these pumpkins, fueled by so much rain this year, were enormous. Forget the happy-go-lucky toss with these big orange blobs. Just getting them off the ground and hand-delivered to a worker on a wagon took a mighty effort. I'd guess some of these pumpkins topped 75 pounds, maybe even 100.

Long clippers

I arrive at the pumpkin patch around 10 in the morning on Monday. Robin had told me by phone Sunday the workers would be trimming cabbage early before moving to the pumpkins. When I get to the pumpkin field at the corner of Wilkins Road and Route 31A, there are about a dozen workers from Mexico out there.

They have clippers with 3-foot-long handles to cut the stems on the pumpkins. Benito, the leader of the crew, hands me some clippers and tells me to cut the stems so they are about 3 inches long.

It seems an easy job with these long clippers. We don't even have to bend over. I expected we'd be on our knees with hand clippers. The long cutters are a new addition this year at Root Brothers. Robin got a deal at Wal-Mart , an end-of-season special. They were only $2 more than the hand clippers.

"The guys don't have to stoop," Robin tells me a couple days later. "It makes it so much easier on them. Why create more work for them?"

I figured the stems would be tough to cut through, but they don't put up much of a fight. They even seem a little soft. Benito says the pumpkins will be left out until the next day so the stems can harden and dry.

Benito, 40, has worked on American farms since he was 17. He has been with Root Brothers the past four years. He doesn't like being called a crew leader or farm manager.

"I like working with the guys," he tells me. "We're all treated the same."

Benito started his American farming career in Virginia, picking tomatoes and cucumbers. He has worked 12 years for Western New York farms, where he said the farms are always looking for help, and the pay is good, especially for the real tough jobs like cutting cabbage. A speedy cabbage cutter can make $200 a day and easily top $1,000 a week, Benito says.

"But it's a hard job," he says. "Pumpkins are easier."

He still makes regular visits home to Mexico. He prefers life in the United States.

"In Mexico it's so poor," he says.

A new friend

Just like in other farm jobs this past year, I'm almost immediately befriended by one of the foreign workers. A 23-year-old named Roberto comes up to me and wants to know my name. I tell him I'm Tomás, and he wonders where I live, if I'm married and have kids. I give him a quick biographical sketch, and I think he understands most of the story.

Roberto tells me he's married, learning English and this is his first year with Root Brothers. He spent last fall picking apples and he says he didn't like the job. He prefers cutting cabbage to climbing ladders and hauling 40-pound baskets of apples.

Roberto says the strap holding the heavy bins of apples would dig into his shoulders. He grimaces telling me about it. I tell him I'm going to give apples a shot some weekend real soon.

"Pumpkins are easier," he says.

We keep clipping the stems, with Roberto at one point warning me he sees a snake near my feet. I look down but I don't see it amidst the thick vines and leaves. Roberto looks and he spots it again. I move to a different spot.

We spend about two hours cutting stems, and I don't think I've broken a sweat. The hardest part is walking through the fields. The pumpkin vines sprawl all over the place. There aren't obvious rows to walk through. I nearly trip several times from the vines.

Around noon, we break for lunch.

A feast with some spice

A worker named Jesús has a good fire going under the lone maple tree near the corner of the two roads. Jesús, 19, surrendered his clippers so I could try the job. He spent the following two hours building the fire and helping to fold mammoth cardboard boxes, which are double the strength of thick cabbage containers.

Benito tells me today is a special lunch. The workers paid about $200 to have a pig slaughtered on Friday. On Saturday they prepared the pork to their liking. There's a metal tin that looks like a lasagna pan loaded with pork scraps. The workers throw them on a grill placed over the fire.

They also warm up some tortillas. Roberto and Benito insist I try one. I grab a slender piece of pork and a heated tortilla. Benito urges me to try some onions, a pepper and a little of some sauce the guys whipped up.

It's all new food to me, and I want to be polite, so I give it a shot. I take one bite and everyone waits for my reaction. The hot pepper and the sauce are highly spicy and I have to sprint to my car for water.

It's not too bad though, as long as I get two gulps of water after every bite. My main complaint is the pork is hard to chew. I ask Benito if the meat should be so hard and he looks at my selection. He says I picked a mostly skin piece of pork. He tells me not to eat it and try another piece.

Another worker named Rene is watching this and he points to a long, thick piece of pork. It looks like the best offering in the whole lot. Rene insists I take it. I'm a little reluctant to take the choice piece, but I do and quickly I consume it. It's good, especially without the hot sauce.

Lunch is almost over and I see one worker fidgeting with a brace for his back. I don't take that as a good sign. Apparently we're in for some serious work.

Plump pumpkins

Benito announces that one group of workers will be going to the far corner of the 25-acre field, cleaning pumpkins and setting them in rows. The other group will be loading pumpkins into a wagon at another part of the field.

I figure the loading will be all fun and games, a chance to throw the lightweight pumpkins around. I want to be with that group. We head about 50 yards away, high-stepping the crazy vines. I'm with four other guys, including Jesús, the fire maker.

He takes a deep breath. He speaks a little English and he says we'll only be going after the heavy pumpkins. Root Brothers wants the big ones out of the field.

Jesús climbs aboard the wagon, which is pulled by a tractor. Rene is driving. There are two rows of four tall cardboard bins on the wagon. A guy named Ignacion, who looks to be in his 40s, and I start grabbing the big pumpkins. Ignacion tells me to leave some if they are too green or if their stems are too short.

I am stunned by the weight of these pumpkins. The 40- to 50-pounders aren't too bad, but I have to do a deep squat and spread my arms wide to grab some of them.

A few seem to weigh 75 pounds. There's a Mexican guy on the other side of the wagon and he is staggering with some of the pumpkins. This guy is about 5 feet tall and weighs 100 pounds. He needs help from the guy with the back brace just to lift the pumpkins over the top of the tall bins.

Jesús tells me I'm strong when I hand him one particular whopper of a pumpkin. Even Jesús, who's 19 and seems to be the toughest guy out here, grunts carrying this one.

Jesús wants us to throw some of the pumpkins to him, to pick up the pace. If they're 25 to 40 pounds, I can throw them a few feet. Jesús puts his hands out, showing where he wants the pumpkin, and I send the pumpkins flying. It's not exactly tossing the football around in the backyard, but the pumpkins-in-flight add some excitement to the chore.

We get the bins filled and I take a turn on the wagon.

Pumpkin stacking

Jesús and Ignacion grab the heavy ones from the field and hand them to me. I set the pumpkins with their stems up in the bin for the first row. Ignacion demonstrates the second, third and fourth rows need to have the pumpkins upside down. Don't set the pumpkins directly on top of each other or the stems will break.

I get the hang of it pretty quickly, although it can be tricky to cram these mammoth gourds in some of the corner crevices.

Jesús and Ignacion seem reluctant to throw the pumpkins to me but I encourage them to try. I can handle most of them. But Jesús chucks one when I'm not quite ready and it makes a direct hit in my ribs. I hear something crack and I'm convinced I just broke a rib. It's actually a snapped stem, but I feel a little wheezy from the blow. I keep on going.

We trade off about every 15 to 20 minutes, the time it takes to fill a wagon. Sometimes we help the two guys on the other side if we get our four bins full before theirs.

There's one particular huge pumpkin that gets my attention in the field and I'm determined to be a show-off and try to lift it. This is a pumpkin on steroids and it takes every thing I've got to get it off the ground. I'm convinced Jimmy Hoffa's body is inside. I stumble over to Jesús, and it takes both of us to get this thing into the bin.

We probably fill eight wagons before Rene and a second driver named Andres declare that's the end of the giant pumpkins.

Robin would tell me later the pumpkins would go to Tampa, New York City and other markets out West. He would struggle to find buyers for them because the pumpkins are so big. Wal-Mart and the chain stores prefer 10- to 20-pounders, Robin says.

"These ones are hard to handle," he says. "They're twice as big as they need to be. We'll have to go to the farm markets where the kids like them."

Robin again insists the pumpkins top out at 40 pounds, but I just don't believe it. These things had anchors inside them.

Fetch and clean

When Rene takes the last wagon away the five of us pumpkin loaders head for the back corner of the field, to help the other workers clean and arrange pumpkins in rows.

I'm relieved the pumpkins are smaller, maybe 20 to 30 pounds. They're all over the place and Benito says we need to make orderly rows for the tractor and wagon to pass through. Getting the pumpkins lined up and cleaned also will pay off with a speedier load later, he says.

Benito gives me an old rag shirt and fish net cloth. I'll use them to wipe mud off the pumpkins. He says orange and green pumpkins are both fair game.

There are at least a dozen of us workers and we're scattered in about five rows, with people fetching pumpkins and setting them in rows. It's after 3 p.m. and some of the guys look near exhaustion. The tired workers stay in the rows and wipe the pumpkins clean while other workers fetch them from the field.

I'm riding a rare mid-afternoon high and go about the work with zest. I start my own row. I'm retrieving and wiping pumpkins, even whistling a little bit. A few pumpkins don't have their stems clipped, so I just use my car keys to weaken the stem. I just jab at it a few times and then can break it off. It's far from a clean cut but I have to improvise.

I notice some zigs and zags in my row. I can't seem to get a nice crisp line.

Roberto comes over and smiles at my attempt.

"Your row looks like a snake," he tells me. "It's OK. We'll fix it."

I wish I had GPS technology for my sneakers, to help keep my pumpkins in a straight line. I just accept there are some things I'm not good at. I continue to fetch pumpkins with gusto, bringing them to Roberto, who gives them a final wipe and sets them in a better-looking row.

Roberto asks if I'm tired, and I tell him I'm doing just fine. He declares pumpkin work is fun, but I say I don't agree. It's not as bad as cutting cabbage and picking cucumbers, but certainly not fun, I tell him.

At 5 o'clock we get a half-hour break. Rene gives a few of us a ride back on the tractor to the main spot under that maple tree. My car is there and I have a few nutty granola bars in my backpack.

I drive back down 200 yards to where Roberto, Jesús and two other guys are sitting next to the row of trees. I have two granola bars left and I give one to Roberto and one to Jesús. They break them in half and share with the other two guys.

Jesús starts calling me "amigo" and wonders if I'll be back tomorrow. I say I won't, but I will finish the shift today, which ends at 7.

Seeking a straight line

By 5:30 we're back in action, although three or four workers are snoozing in the field. Jesús jostles them and soon we're going at full strength.

Rene is back with the wagon and a group of eight workers are flinging and loading pumpkins, about 20-pounders, into the big bins.

It seems no one wants to fetch and wipe pumpkins so I take that job. Roberto isn't there to help me keep my row straight and it becomes clear I just don't have the knack for getting these things set in a straight line. My row seems to fade out and weave back inside. I don't know what my problem is.

Two other guys come over to wipe the pumpkins while I fetch more. I notice they also try to reconfigure the row.

By 6, the sun casts a hard light on us. It will be sundown within an hour. Many of the workers seem to have lost their spunk, especially the five of us who are still fetching and wiping pumpkins. I know the end is near, so I muster a late surge of activity. My back is sore, but I want a strong finish.

I start a fresh row and this time I'm determined — and hopeful — I can get the pumpkins in a straight row. I get 10 in a row, then 20, and things look good. I'm all by myself, retrieving and wiping the pumpkins and I keep at it for 45 minutes before I hear someone yell, "Tomás, it's time to go home."

It's Jesús, who's on the wagon with most of the other workers.

It's getting dark and I check my row of about 100 pumpkins. They're in a perfect line.