Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Re-Introductions- II
The next time I went, I decided to call the owner, David. He told me that they were at the farm with the red barns (didn’t both of the farms have red barns? This was a detail I missed.).
Driving up to the farm, I noticed that the field to my left had recently been harvested. Stray leaves were strewn on the ground, some half buried in the mud. Up on a hill I saw an open tobacco barn. I could hear the distant humming of the tractor motors, as they stewed exhaust into the air. From outside the barn, I heard the muffled talk of the Jamaicans as they lifted lattice after lattice of tobacco into the barn rafters.
Getting out of the car, I could feel an iron knot sink to the pit of my stomach. What if the workers didn’t remember me? Walking into an open side door of the barn, I first saw Alvin (the other workers call him Preacher). Enthusiastically I said hello. To my surprise (why should it have surprised me?) all of the workers remembered me. Delroy called to me from the rafters. One of the first things he asked was if I brought him something. I hadn’t. He said after all this time you have nothing to give me, which made me feel guilty. Clearly they are giving me something, they are allowing me to photograph them, and yet what do I give these workers in exchange? I feel like we have an uneven relationship where I take and they give.
Driving up to the farm, I noticed that the field to my left had recently been harvested. Stray leaves were strewn on the ground, some half buried in the mud. Up on a hill I saw an open tobacco barn. I could hear the distant humming of the tractor motors, as they stewed exhaust into the air. From outside the barn, I heard the muffled talk of the Jamaicans as they lifted lattice after lattice of tobacco into the barn rafters.
Getting out of the car, I could feel an iron knot sink to the pit of my stomach. What if the workers didn’t remember me? Walking into an open side door of the barn, I first saw Alvin (the other workers call him Preacher). Enthusiastically I said hello. To my surprise (why should it have surprised me?) all of the workers remembered me. Delroy called to me from the rafters. One of the first things he asked was if I brought him something. I hadn’t. He said after all this time you have nothing to give me, which made me feel guilty. Clearly they are giving me something, they are allowing me to photograph them, and yet what do I give these workers in exchange? I feel like we have an uneven relationship where I take and they give.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Re-Introductions
For days I have been loitering around in my apartment, thinking about going to the tobacco farm. I had called the farm owner, David Arnold. When I asked him if his workers were here, he said yes. Driving to Southwick from Northampton takes 30 minutes (about) each way. Monday afternoon I drove down to the farm. I went to their main farm, or at least the farm with the business sign. No one was there when I arrived. After a while, one of the farm owners, Fred, drove up with a spray truck, to spray fungacide on the tobacco. He told me the workers were at the other farm. As I watched him drive down the rows of tobacco, I felt the little droplets of fungacide sting my eyes. I drove to the other farm, which is about a mile away. Getting out of my car, I walked to one of the tobacco barns. Instead of seeing the Jamaican workers, I saw shirtless teenage boys, their bronze bodies glistening with sweat. They looked at me, but did not approach. Their only appeared mildly interested, but nothing more. I left confused; promising myself I would visit the camp site, where the men lived, the following evening. The next day, I conjured some excuse for not going, and the same for the following day. What if I went to the camp site and the men weren’t there, but instead there were men I didn’t know? What would I ask? What if they were there, but didn’t recognize me? I needed a formal way to re-introduce myself.
A couple days later I called the farm owner, David Arnold:
A man answered gruffly, “Hello,” in a voice that sounded unfamiliar. Was this still David Arnold’s number?
I said, “Hi. Is this David?”
“Yes this is.”
“Hi. This is Jennifer Kane,” I paused for a sound of recognition, but heard nothing, “I photographed on your farm last year.” Pause
“Oh yea. I remember you. How are you?”
“I’m fine. How are you?”
“Fine.”
“I was wondering if your workers are back?”
“They are.”
“I was wondering if I could come back and photograph on your farm?”
“You can. When would you think of coming?”
“Well I can come today or sometime next week.”
“Next week would be better.”
“Okay. I’ll see you sometime next week. Thanks”
I cannot remove myself from the formality of getting the farm owner, David Arnold’s approval to photograph on his farm. Last year I had to (in my mind) call David every time I went to the farm, that is until I realized he had already given me permission to be on his farm. There was no need to continually win his approval. I put more emphasis on these verbal interactions than was necessary. This summer I still felt the need to ask him. After all it is his farm and they are his workers. Who am I to intrude ungraciously? I feel like my position should be stated clearly to him. He should know why I am here and what my motives are. It’s pertinent that I not offend or manipulate anyone. My aim in this project is to have the impartiality of a scientist and the sincerity of a friend. That is my biggest dilemma.
A man answered gruffly, “Hello,” in a voice that sounded unfamiliar. Was this still David Arnold’s number?
I said, “Hi. Is this David?”
“Yes this is.”
“Hi. This is Jennifer Kane,” I paused for a sound of recognition, but heard nothing, “I photographed on your farm last year.” Pause
“Oh yea. I remember you. How are you?”
“I’m fine. How are you?”
“Fine.”
“I was wondering if your workers are back?”
“They are.”
“I was wondering if I could come back and photograph on your farm?”
“You can. When would you think of coming?”
“Well I can come today or sometime next week.”
“Next week would be better.”
“Okay. I’ll see you sometime next week. Thanks”
I cannot remove myself from the formality of getting the farm owner, David Arnold’s approval to photograph on his farm. Last year I had to (in my mind) call David every time I went to the farm, that is until I realized he had already given me permission to be on his farm. There was no need to continually win his approval. I put more emphasis on these verbal interactions than was necessary. This summer I still felt the need to ask him. After all it is his farm and they are his workers. Who am I to intrude ungraciously? I feel like my position should be stated clearly to him. He should know why I am here and what my motives are. It’s pertinent that I not offend or manipulate anyone. My aim in this project is to have the impartiality of a scientist and the sincerity of a friend. That is my biggest dilemma.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Problems growing tobacco
After driving all the way from Texas with my friend Eric, we finally reached Northampton. My goal in coming here was to continue with the photo project I started during my Div III, which focused on photographing and interviewing Jamaican farmworkers working on a local tobacco farm in Massachusetts. As we drove to MA, it struck me somewhere around Chicago, what if the men weren’t there? What would I do then?
Eric told me that in June it had rained 28 days out of 31. Last year, during the middle of July, several weeks before the plants were harvested, a series of sever hailstorms hit tobacco farms in Hampshire County, MA. Before the storm, I had arranged with Alan Sanderson, a tobacco farmer in Hampshire County, to photograph the Jamaican workers on his farm. A week before the harvest, I went on a vacation. When I came back, Alan’s entire crop had been ruined. Pelting ice from the hailstorms had punched holes in his crop, making the entire crop unsellable. All of the Jamaican farmworkers had been sent away to other farms, probably a local tobacco or apple farm.
Alan’s plight echoes to the entire tobacco market in the Connecticut Valley. The Treaties on growing tobacco in the United States says, “There is perhaps no product of the soil that requires more experience, and is subject to more casualties, than a crop of tobacco” (Ramsey 136). In the field, tobacco “is subject to threats from drought, flood, wind, hail, insects, worms, blue mold and other diseases, and, in the shed, pole rot, any of which can reduce or destroy the value of the harvest” (O’Gorman 18). Buyers look for a certain quality. They want a good sized, full-bodied leaf, or a durable leaf that stretches without breaking, and a dark even colored leaf without discolorations. I became afraid that I came from Texas for nothing. What if the crop was ruined and the men had not come?
Eric told me that in June it had rained 28 days out of 31. Last year, during the middle of July, several weeks before the plants were harvested, a series of sever hailstorms hit tobacco farms in Hampshire County, MA. Before the storm, I had arranged with Alan Sanderson, a tobacco farmer in Hampshire County, to photograph the Jamaican workers on his farm. A week before the harvest, I went on a vacation. When I came back, Alan’s entire crop had been ruined. Pelting ice from the hailstorms had punched holes in his crop, making the entire crop unsellable. All of the Jamaican farmworkers had been sent away to other farms, probably a local tobacco or apple farm.
Alan’s plight echoes to the entire tobacco market in the Connecticut Valley. The Treaties on growing tobacco in the United States says, “There is perhaps no product of the soil that requires more experience, and is subject to more casualties, than a crop of tobacco” (Ramsey 136). In the field, tobacco “is subject to threats from drought, flood, wind, hail, insects, worms, blue mold and other diseases, and, in the shed, pole rot, any of which can reduce or destroy the value of the harvest” (O’Gorman 18). Buyers look for a certain quality. They want a good sized, full-bodied leaf, or a durable leaf that stretches without breaking, and a dark even colored leaf without discolorations. I became afraid that I came from Texas for nothing. What if the crop was ruined and the men had not come?
About this blog
This blog is a continuation of my Div III (a fancy word for Senior Thesis), which I completed in May at Hampshire College. It focuses on tobacco farming in western MA, but hopefully will branch into the culture of cigar aficionados (cigar enthusiasts). Here is an exerpt I wrote about my project last year:
The year before I started my Div III I realized that I was most passionate about photography, particularly photographing people. When I look at things, I aim to understand them deeply. I position myself under the surface, trying to grasp hidden truths. This stems from a need to know the meaning behind things. My mind dissects and catalogues information about people. I constantly try to understand why people do things and what their actions say about them. In finding a project I knew I wanted to focus on a group of people whom I had not studied before. Going into the project, I felt that the less I knew, the less my educated bias would affect the project. Rather I wanted my study to occur naturally, to let the issues surface naturally. My photographs and writing should be organic, not posed or constructed by my own bias. This is what I hoped would happen.
When I started thinking about my Div III I remembered Brightwood Health Center. I first heard about the Brightwood Health Center from Mary Bombardier, who works at Community Partnership for Social Change office at Hampshire College. What drew me to Brightwood was the way Mary described it. She told me how the center works on health care justice issues, by serving underprivileged community members in Springfield, MA. Things that happened at the clinic happened in real life with real life problems, not in a theoretical academic mindset. Combining photography and medicine would bring together both areas of my studies. The possibilities at Brightwood seemed promising. I could represent a group of people both through a scientific and photographic lens. Perhaps I could become deeply involved in the clinic and could get to know some of the doctors and patients intimately.
During the summer I worked with Luz Pena on the outreach program. The outreach program runs from May to October/November. Every week Luz and a doctor (either Dr. K- or Dr. F-) go to two of the five tobacco farms in Southwick, MA to see the migrant Jamaican and Puerto Rican farmworkers. The patients at the outreach clinics make up less than 10% of the total patients at Brightwood. Brightwood mostly sees seasonal farmworkers, or farmworkers who live in the area all year, but only working on farms half of the year. The men I saw migrate from Jamaica or Puerto Rico for the harvesting season, returning home after the crop has been reaped. These men work on tobacco farms in Southwick, which is near the Connecticut border.
Based on my internship position and my ability to meet farmworkers, my photographic and ethnographic project transformed organically from a project about the health center to a project about the migrant Jamaican farmworkers who harvest and grow tobacco. Key political and economic issues arose from following the movement of these men and the goods they produce. The issues this study raised ended up forming the bulk of my project.
The year before I started my Div III I realized that I was most passionate about photography, particularly photographing people. When I look at things, I aim to understand them deeply. I position myself under the surface, trying to grasp hidden truths. This stems from a need to know the meaning behind things. My mind dissects and catalogues information about people. I constantly try to understand why people do things and what their actions say about them. In finding a project I knew I wanted to focus on a group of people whom I had not studied before. Going into the project, I felt that the less I knew, the less my educated bias would affect the project. Rather I wanted my study to occur naturally, to let the issues surface naturally. My photographs and writing should be organic, not posed or constructed by my own bias. This is what I hoped would happen.
When I started thinking about my Div III I remembered Brightwood Health Center. I first heard about the Brightwood Health Center from Mary Bombardier, who works at Community Partnership for Social Change office at Hampshire College. What drew me to Brightwood was the way Mary described it. She told me how the center works on health care justice issues, by serving underprivileged community members in Springfield, MA. Things that happened at the clinic happened in real life with real life problems, not in a theoretical academic mindset. Combining photography and medicine would bring together both areas of my studies. The possibilities at Brightwood seemed promising. I could represent a group of people both through a scientific and photographic lens. Perhaps I could become deeply involved in the clinic and could get to know some of the doctors and patients intimately.
During the summer I worked with Luz Pena on the outreach program. The outreach program runs from May to October/November. Every week Luz and a doctor (either Dr. K- or Dr. F-) go to two of the five tobacco farms in Southwick, MA to see the migrant Jamaican and Puerto Rican farmworkers. The patients at the outreach clinics make up less than 10% of the total patients at Brightwood. Brightwood mostly sees seasonal farmworkers, or farmworkers who live in the area all year, but only working on farms half of the year. The men I saw migrate from Jamaica or Puerto Rico for the harvesting season, returning home after the crop has been reaped. These men work on tobacco farms in Southwick, which is near the Connecticut border.
Based on my internship position and my ability to meet farmworkers, my photographic and ethnographic project transformed organically from a project about the health center to a project about the migrant Jamaican farmworkers who harvest and grow tobacco. Key political and economic issues arose from following the movement of these men and the goods they produce. The issues this study raised ended up forming the bulk of my project.
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