With bare countertops, old appliances and mismatching furniture, Mario and Edgar's home looks like the residence of a few fraternity brothers.
Glenn Gaston / The Citizen
Guatemalan workers at Doody Farms in Fleming typically work 11-hour days, and unlike traditional migrant laborers, these workers stay at the farm throughout the year. Farmers praise their work ethic.
Guatemalan workers at Doody Farms in Fleming typically work 11-hour days, and unlike traditional migrant laborers, these workers stay at the farm throughout the year. Farmers praise their work ethic.
But unlike college men, these siblings don't spend their nights partying with friends. They own no fancy computers or high-tech gadgets, and the majority of their day revolves not around chasing young women, but milking cows on Doody Farms in Fleming.
Mario, 19, and Edgar, 22, are Guatemalan dairy workers who have sparse rooms because they don't have the means, nor the time, to fill them. Their house here is not really home - that is in Guatemala.
The brothers, who did not want their last names printed, are two of more than 1.3 million hired farm and ranch workers nationwide, according to the National Agricultural Statistics Service. Many of these laborers are not American-born. The 2001-2002 National Agricultural Workers Survey reported that 83 percent of all U.S. crop workers are members of a Hispanic group.
Yet as the nation benefits from foreign labor, the workers themselves often live a secluded life, with little or no interaction between migrant workers and their surrounding communities, said Luis Torres, western New York director of Rural and Migrant Ministry.
Hispanic farmworkers are often isolated from the general public because of a language barrier (neither Mario nor Edgar speaks English) and because many live on or near the farm, Torres said.
For Edgar, life can be lonesome.
”We are like prisoners here in a cell,“ he said, noting that the brothers' inability to obtain drivers licenses and a lack of English preclude them from having a social life.
Like American workers, they go from work to home, home to work and back. But unlike domestic laborers, there isn't much else to fill the time in between.
New York Farm Bureau spokesman Peter Gregg noted the increasing importance of - and reliance on - Hispanic laborers. ”We just cannot depend on local labor supplies to get the cows milked or to bring the crops in,“ Gregg said.
Oftentimes, these farm workers are collectively referred to as ”migrant workers.“ But in Cayuga County, the term can be a misnomer, as an increasing number of Hispanic laborers, both legal and illegal, are employed on one dairy farm year-round.
Edgar, who is smaller than his younger brother yet still has the rounded biceps of a farmer, said that dairy work can be difficult but that he has little choice in the matter. Jobs in Guatemala are scarce and don't pay much.
”We come here to work, and that is what we do,“ said Edgar, who arrived in Cayuga County two-and-a-half years ago.
Mario followed more than a year later.
And how is working on a dairy farm? It's not difficult, Mario said. He smiled and gestured with his hands as though milking a cow.
But despite Mario's modesty, the work of farm laborers can be physically demanding.
Edgar works 66 hours a week, with a shift that begins at 6:30 a.m. His brother milks cows 55 hours a week and has the night shift. They are paid $7.50 an hour.
Some of that money goes toward rent for their house that sits on farm property; they share it with two other Hispanic workers. They send another portion of their paychecks to family in Guatemala.
The brothers' opposite shifts leave little time for going out, though that isn't even a possibility when they want to. There is no Spanish-speaking church nearby, an institution that Guatemalans rely on for socialization.
They own a car but have to wait for a licensed driver to take them places, and they rarely see any friends - all who are Hispanic - outside of work.
And then there are the girls. No women work at the dairy, and though they bow their heads and laugh when asked about relationships, it's clear the brothers miss females their own age.
Farm co-owner Doris Doody recognizes the challenges that confront non-domestic workers.
”They're young guys, and it's hard,“ she said, noting that they can't go out and find girlfriends like many young American men.
A few miles away, the seven Guatemalan men that work at Patterson Farms in Aurelius have their own stories to tell, though their reasons for coming here show a similar theme.
”In my country, you can't make money,“ said Jacabo, 24, who has worked in the milking parlors for more than a year.
Like the Americans, the Guatemalans work 12-hour shifts five days a week and are paid $6 to $9 an hour. Both Doody and Patterson Farm co-owner Connie Patterson said that their laborers would not work for fewer hours, as the men are eager to earn money.
”They are extremely hard workers,“ Patterson said. ”We would be hard-pressed to run our dairy without (them). You simply cannot get American people to do the job.“
Unlike Mario and Edgar, Jacabo, who is here with two brothers, and fellow dairy worker Blaedmr, 23, who is alone, said that they do not feel lonely. They sometimes go out to eat or to the stores.
Yet Jacabo conceded that he misses his relatives and feels sad when he thinks about his country.
He'd like to learn English but said that there isn't any time. He doesn't want to live in America but won't say why not.
For dairy manager Bob Church, such succinct answers are the norm. Over the past few years, he has learned ”farm Spanish“ - enough to tell his Guatemalan workers what to do - and the farm brings in a translator for important training issues.
But there's not much of a need for verbal communication between the workers. In general, they feel comfortable on the farms, though cultural differences do arise.
Edgar said that in the past, American workers tried to tell him what to do but that the boss stepped in to handle the situation. At Patterson Farms, Church said that the Hispanic men often don't take direction well from the female employees.
But overall, Church sees the increasing numbers of Hispanic laborers as a non-issue.
”I think they bring a different work ethic with them that filters to the rest of the staff,“ Church said. ”They're very loyal and very dependable. If they call in sick, they're definitely sick. There's never a question in my mind about it.“
Doody echoed Church's views.
”You can't find Americans that will work these cows like they do,“ she said. ”There wouldn't be any cows milked in this county if it weren't for them.“
Staff writer Linda Ober can be reached at 253-5311 ext. 237 or linda.ober@lee.net
Mario, 19, and Edgar, 22, are Guatemalan dairy workers who have sparse rooms because they don't have the means, nor the time, to fill them. Their house here is not really home - that is in Guatemala.
The brothers, who did not want their last names printed, are two of more than 1.3 million hired farm and ranch workers nationwide, according to the National Agricultural Statistics Service. Many of these laborers are not American-born. The 2001-2002 National Agricultural Workers Survey reported that 83 percent of all U.S. crop workers are members of a Hispanic group.
Yet as the nation benefits from foreign labor, the workers themselves often live a secluded life, with little or no interaction between migrant workers and their surrounding communities, said Luis Torres, western New York director of Rural and Migrant Ministry.
Hispanic farmworkers are often isolated from the general public because of a language barrier (neither Mario nor Edgar speaks English) and because many live on or near the farm, Torres said.
For Edgar, life can be lonesome.
”We are like prisoners here in a cell,“ he said, noting that the brothers' inability to obtain drivers licenses and a lack of English preclude them from having a social life.
Like American workers, they go from work to home, home to work and back. But unlike domestic laborers, there isn't much else to fill the time in between.
New York Farm Bureau spokesman Peter Gregg noted the increasing importance of - and reliance on - Hispanic laborers. ”We just cannot depend on local labor supplies to get the cows milked or to bring the crops in,“ Gregg said.
Oftentimes, these farm workers are collectively referred to as ”migrant workers.“ But in Cayuga County, the term can be a misnomer, as an increasing number of Hispanic laborers, both legal and illegal, are employed on one dairy farm year-round.
Edgar, who is smaller than his younger brother yet still has the rounded biceps of a farmer, said that dairy work can be difficult but that he has little choice in the matter. Jobs in Guatemala are scarce and don't pay much.
”We come here to work, and that is what we do,“ said Edgar, who arrived in Cayuga County two-and-a-half years ago.
Mario followed more than a year later.
And how is working on a dairy farm? It's not difficult, Mario said. He smiled and gestured with his hands as though milking a cow.
But despite Mario's modesty, the work of farm laborers can be physically demanding.
Edgar works 66 hours a week, with a shift that begins at 6:30 a.m. His brother milks cows 55 hours a week and has the night shift. They are paid $7.50 an hour.
Some of that money goes toward rent for their house that sits on farm property; they share it with two other Hispanic workers. They send another portion of their paychecks to family in Guatemala.
The brothers' opposite shifts leave little time for going out, though that isn't even a possibility when they want to. There is no Spanish-speaking church nearby, an institution that Guatemalans rely on for socialization.
They own a car but have to wait for a licensed driver to take them places, and they rarely see any friends - all who are Hispanic - outside of work.
And then there are the girls. No women work at the dairy, and though they bow their heads and laugh when asked about relationships, it's clear the brothers miss females their own age.
Farm co-owner Doris Doody recognizes the challenges that confront non-domestic workers.
”They're young guys, and it's hard,“ she said, noting that they can't go out and find girlfriends like many young American men.
A few miles away, the seven Guatemalan men that work at Patterson Farms in Aurelius have their own stories to tell, though their reasons for coming here show a similar theme.
”In my country, you can't make money,“ said Jacabo, 24, who has worked in the milking parlors for more than a year.
Like the Americans, the Guatemalans work 12-hour shifts five days a week and are paid $6 to $9 an hour. Both Doody and Patterson Farm co-owner Connie Patterson said that their laborers would not work for fewer hours, as the men are eager to earn money.
”They are extremely hard workers,“ Patterson said. ”We would be hard-pressed to run our dairy without (them). You simply cannot get American people to do the job.“
Unlike Mario and Edgar, Jacabo, who is here with two brothers, and fellow dairy worker Blaedmr, 23, who is alone, said that they do not feel lonely. They sometimes go out to eat or to the stores.
Yet Jacabo conceded that he misses his relatives and feels sad when he thinks about his country.
He'd like to learn English but said that there isn't any time. He doesn't want to live in America but won't say why not.
For dairy manager Bob Church, such succinct answers are the norm. Over the past few years, he has learned ”farm Spanish“ - enough to tell his Guatemalan workers what to do - and the farm brings in a translator for important training issues.
But there's not much of a need for verbal communication between the workers. In general, they feel comfortable on the farms, though cultural differences do arise.
Edgar said that in the past, American workers tried to tell him what to do but that the boss stepped in to handle the situation. At Patterson Farms, Church said that the Hispanic men often don't take direction well from the female employees.
But overall, Church sees the increasing numbers of Hispanic laborers as a non-issue.
”I think they bring a different work ethic with them that filters to the rest of the staff,“ Church said. ”They're very loyal and very dependable. If they call in sick, they're definitely sick. There's never a question in my mind about it.“
Doody echoed Church's views.
”You can't find Americans that will work these cows like they do,“ she said. ”There wouldn't be any cows milked in this county if it weren't for them.“
Staff writer Linda Ober can be reached at 253-5311 ext. 237 or linda.ober@lee.net
Citizen
Hot Jobs
New! Off the Menu
The Citizens' Say
Post your comment - click hereThere are No comments posted.