“As my 80-year-old dad and I make the trek slowly up the heavily-canopied, half-century old two-track, I wonder what his reaction will be as we make it to the cherry orchard entrance,” writes Rebecca Carlson in this first installment in a series about the legacy and impact of Leelanau County farming families. “With the sun shining in our faces, Dad stops dead in his tracks and takes his first look at the orchard in several years. ‘Where are all the trees? Where are all Herman’s trees?’ Silent and shaking his head, my Dad continues to scan the empty orchard. ‘Dad, all our trees were removed last year,’ I say. ‘There were only about 20 cherry trees left.’ He responds, ‘But I don’t remember agreeing to that.’ While his eyes well with tears, I realize this was yet another loss of family ties and precious memories from our years of farming.”
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During these busy summer days in the Leelanau fields, Marcelino sometimes feels as though he carries the weight of two migrant farmworkers. He once picked grapes, cherries and apples alongside 12-15 other workers, but this year there are only seven splitting their time between two small farms.
How our broken immigration system hurts Leelanau County farmers By Jacob Wheeler Sun editor Rosa Valenzuela and her family look forward to their annual trip up north, to see old friends, to prepare picnics in the park and to swim in Lake Michigan when the waters warm by mid-summer. But the Valenzuelas are not your […]