Carlos Roig shares about his upbringing, farming and the importance of food.
My hometown was a blip on a two-lane road slicing through the farmlands of the San Joaquin Valley. “If you blink, you’ll miss it,” my mother used to say, and she was right.
My schoolmates, like me, were the children of farmers who grew almonds, apricots, peppers and alfalfa.
My farmer father would rise at an ungodly hour, quietly slipping into the darkness, the hot tip of an ill-advised cigarette lighting the way. He’d spend the rest of the day driving the tractor, trimming and traipsing, worrying about water, weeds and pests.
Our town’s highlights were fall football and summer parades, quinceañeras and cookouts. I am of that place, but life has taken me to communities of all sizes — from urban centers like San Francisco, Chicago, Madrid and Washington, D.C. to quiet suburbs and tiny little towns.