The Harvest: An Immigrant in the United States

By Yolanda Vera Martínez

The Harvest is a narrative of short stories that makes us reflect about how things used to be and how they are nowadays. This book becomes a great tool against forgetfulness, the collective amnesia that affects many of us. Martnez, as a good teacher, guides us through the little corners of her lifefamily, work, successes and failurespainting her story with simplicity and precision. There is also a version in SpanishLa Cosechaso that present generations, as well as those to come, will remember their roots. Only with well-established and well-remembered roots, we can continue to tell new stories, achieve new advancements and grow new branches of thought and existence.
Davin Crdenas, Lead Organizer
North Bay Organizing Project
B.A. in Liberal Arts, Sonoma State University

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 11, 2015
• ISBN: 9781496974419

Yolanda Vera Martínez

Yolanda Vera Martnez obtuvo su Ttulo Universitario en Ingls y una Maestra en Liderazgo Educacional. Ha publicado su trabajo literario en peridicos y libros. Ha recibido varios reconocimientos por sus obras poticas. Es autora de Poemas Cotidianos de una Latina, La vida en Versos y La Cosecha. Trabaj 16 aos como secretaria y 22 como maestra de artes lingsticas en Ingls y en Espaol. Naci en Chicavasco, Hidalgo, Mxico pero ahora reside en Santa Rosa, California. En Aula 101, Martnez relata su jbilo, al compartir el xito de sus estudiantes, as como algunas experiencias negativas al lidiar con los retos propios de la juventud. Sus reconocimientos como maestra sobresaliente son un aliento para toda persona que aspira a un puesto en la educacin.

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© 2015 Yolanda Vera Martínez. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  03/09/2015

ISBN: 978-1-4969-7440-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-7441-9 (e)

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Place Of Birth

Education In Mexico

Arriving In The United States

Education In The United States And My First Job

Employment In Subsequent Summers

Changing High Schools

Santa Rosa Junior College

Education, Wedding Or Both?

Starting A Family And A New Career

New Job And Graduation From Santa Rosa Junior College

Education At Sonoma State University

Other Barriers To Break Before Receiving The Teaching Credential

Learning,A Continuous Process

Temporary Teaching Assignment

Permanent Teaching Assignment

The Family

Creativity

Religion

What’s My Philosophy About Life?

Looking Into The Future

Notes

Dedication

To the Vera and Martinez Families

in Mexico

and also those in the United States

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I thank my parents for being the means through which I could come into this world and for the support they have always given me.

My grandmother Aurora Espinosa and my uncle Cecilio Vera deserve my most sincere thanks for taking care of me during my childhood.

To my siblings and their families I am grateful; they always listen to me and help me, in one way or another, when I need them.

Many thanks to my relatives and friends, too extensive to mention, but I keep them in my heart, and each one knows the connection that exists between us.

The Best family in Sebastopol, California, deserves my immense gratitude for having accepted us in their ranch to work and for the many ways in which they helped us flourish in the American culture.

Thanks to my husband, Juan; daughters Chela and Cheli; sons, Juan and Rolando; daughter-in-law Sophia; grandchildren Mercedez, Alicia, Thomas and Matthew. They are my happiness and continuous support.

Very special thanks go to my friend Randy Nunes for believing that my small accomplishments are worth sharing and suggesting that I write the story of my life.

I thank God and the Saints of my devotion for taking care of me and for giving me everything that I need.

INTRODUCTION

The apple trees in bloom, in the spring, remind me of my arrival in Sebastopol, California. My sister Hilda and I had traveled all day. First we went from our hometown, Chicavasco, Hidalgo, to Mexico City by bus. Then we flew to San Francisco, California. Later, we spent two hours in a 1958 green station wagon that my dad was driving. My mother occupied the passenger seat by my dad, and we traveled in the back seat, telling them about the trip and how the family was back home.

What impressed me the most upon arriving in California was the abundant vegetation. As we approached our final destination, through winding roads, I looked in astonishment at the apple trees blooming, with a pinkish-whitish color, and I thought to myself: This is paradise. I was even more surprised when my dad parked in front of a home surrounded by such beautiful trees; it was at the entrance to a ranch of fruit trees. What had I done to deserve such a blessing?

But was my arrival really a blessing? At that moment I didn’t think beyond the beauty of the apple trees. I didn’t know what awaited me and I didn’t know I was going to remain here forever. Fifty-three years later, I am still in the same paradise, but I don’t forget my roots.

I wanted to relate this story for the family that stayed in our homeland. They have worked hard to receive an education and find employment there. On the other, I thought about the new generations that were born here in the United States, for whom we are part of their roots, so that they see that our lives as immigrants have been difficult. We have faced embarrassing situations when we could not pronounce the English words correctly or we said the wrong things. We have suffered discrimination because of our economic situation. We have worked in difficult jobs in extreme temperatures, experiencing hunger and thirst. Hopefully, my experiences will inspire readers to set goals in life, so that their working and living conditions are much more comfortable than ours.

I consider myself a successful woman. With a lot of effort, I managed to obtain a good education. I had the opportunity to work in the fields, in offices and in school classrooms. Another great blessing is my wonderful family.

In Mexico, here and in any other place, one can make a living with the resources that life offers. We learn to lose, hoping to win next time. We trip, and the fall is painful, but the struggle in getting up can make us stronger in moving on, for we still have a long way to go.

Now, in my golden years, I can look back at the road that I have traveled and write about my experiences, some painful and others of great joy, but I am proud of my accomplishments because from each phase of my life I learned something, and that is what I want to share in this autobiography.

I wanted to organize my narrative in chapters by theme, but life is not that simple. For example, our education is interrupted by reasons beyond our control, other things happen and, if there is a true interest, we go back to continue what we have started. Therefore, it is better to present the details of one’s life in chronological order.

Please don’t take to heart the discriminatory or put-down instances that I describe. As I already mentioned, I learned something from every experience. Also, from every failure I gained the strength to move on to my next goal. Every rejection or failure was, as the saying goes, a blessing in disguise.

Dear family, friends, and guest readers, if you remember things differently, forgive me—this is how I remember them.

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PLACE OF BIRTH

My mother Trini used to call her little house el cuartillo for its small size. It was only a room, about four square meters, situated by the main road, at the entrance to Chicavasco, State of Hidalgo, about 100 kilometers north of Mexico City. El cuartillo had a tiny window that was more for the light to come through than for looking out; it was way up high. The door was toward the back, where there was a cactus plantation, and on the south side, there was a small hut made of maguey branches, which was the kitchen. The maguey plant is from the cacti family.

Cuartillo was a small wooden box that the sellers used to measure seeds. People, for example, would ask for a cuartillo of corn, the equivalent to a kilogram and a half in content.

In that cuartillo I was born, and my parents, Heriberto and Trinidad, named me Yolanda. My dad says that he doesn’t remember why they gave me that name, but it doesn’t matter, it’s my name. It means violet—a small, fragile plant that produces a tiny flower of the color of its name. I think I resemble the plant and flower. I am petite, and the fragility goes with my feelings.

Across the street there was a house where my paternal grandparents, Placido and Aurora, lived. They were humble people, but in better living conditions than most other citizens in town. They already had a house made of stone, instead of the penca huts that most families had, and their main source of income was a store, where they sold from edibles to petroleum for lighting up their lamps.

My grandmother had five sons: Justo, Heriberto, Tomás, Nicomedes and Cecilio. The only baby girl she had died at birth. Since I was the first granddaughter, and in grandma’s eagerness to have a baby girl that would fill that emptiness, she spoiled me. She said that my parents, he being 18 and she 20 years old, would sleep peacefully, while I would wake up at night and cry, and cry, and cry. My parents didn’t hear me, but she did, so she would get up to go steal me away. At dawn every morning, I was with her.

A short time after, grandpa became ill, and all the sons, except Cecilio, the youngest, had to go to Mexico City to work, so they could help with the medical expenses. The effort was in vain, and grandpa died with constant hiccups. What was the illness? No one knew.

When