This summer I am working on a farm. I lead tractor tours around our 30 sun-drenched acres. My job involves eating raw corn, demonstrating how to pick strawberries, speaking some Chinese and Spanish here and there, and telling stories about vegetable history.
When I get hungry, I simply pick more strawberries. When I get tired, I go inside and hand out samples at the market stand. When I have to go to the bathroom, there’s a port-a-potty out back. When I need a moment to breathe, I inhale the rich musk of the earth.
Though I’m not quite a farmhand, I like to play the part. I wear a big straw hat and corduroy jeans, and invite guests to call me Farmer Chuck. When I get off work, I drive down Pacific Coast Highway to the sound of Arlo Guthrie, James Taylor, and Dolly Parton.
I relish the question, “Oh, where do you work?”
