MIGRANT CHRONICLES: THE SUITOR COMES A'COURTIN

By Juan Montoya
Delphos, Ohio, is one of those small farm towns surrounded by soybeans and tomato fields that dot the Midwest landscape.
The Wildcats, their high school team, is just one of hundreds across the state with aspirations of one season making it past the teams of bigger towns. It hasn't happened yet, but hope springs eternal.


Its permanent population of less than 7,000  swelled by a few thousands come the middle and late summer when the migrants arrived to harvest tomatoes, bell pepper and cucumbers.

Many lived in the labor camp that was built next to the old navigable canal that was part of the Miami and Erie system which in the past had seen barges and boats ply their cargoes all the way north to Defiance. Others who worked for individual farmers often lived on the farm in old farmhouses that had been the first homes where the farmer had lived in before they built new ones and moved there.

On the east, Lima was the nearest big city and on the west, Van Wert, where the canning plant was located, was the only town of any size before hitting the Indiana border.
The Medranos lived in a farm just west of Delphos along with two other families San Pedro and Bluetown who traveled with them from Brownsville in the Rio Grande Valley. The entire family – four sisters and three boys along with their mom and dad – picked tomatoes in the fields located near the old farmhouse. The only respite from the drudgery of farm labor was the occasional trip to nearby Delphos and once in a blue moon, to Lima or Van Wert on Saturday afternoon or Sunday.
It was on a weekend trip to Van Wert that Amanda, the older of the four sisters, caught the eye of Jesus, a resettled migrant worker.

Jesus worked in the vegetable cannery in Van Wert, and his family, originally from San Antonio, had stayed tolive  in northwest Ohio. They no longer migrated yearly and saw their jobs as a step up from working in the fields like the families that arrived each year.

Over time, Jesus and Amanda started platicando and seeing each other on the sly. They became novios de lejos, and the girls from the other families covered for them when they visited Van Wert.
One day the couple decided that they wanted to get married and Jesus told Amanda that he was going ask her father for her hand in marriage.
Amanda was horrified. The migrant families were strict and deeply conservative when it came to protecting their daughters and making them respect their family's name and their religious values. Premarital sex was out of the question and an accidental pregnancy would result in the disowning of the girl from the family. Above all, respect for the family was paramount.

That's why Amanda and her sisters and girl friends hid in an upstairs bedroom with their mother when Jesus, driving his new used car and accompanied by a friend, pulled into the farmhouse driway and alighted. Jesus jauntily bounced up to the porch and  knocked on the door. He asked to speak with Mr. Medrano and waited as Amanda's father came to the door and asked him what it was that he wanted.
"Me quiero casar con Amanda y vego a pedirle su mano," Jesus told him. (I want to marry Amanda and came to ask you for her hand.)
"Y usted es huerfano?" her father asked him. (Are you an orphan?)
"No, I have a mother and father," Jesus, a little thrown off, replied.
"Well, when you bring them with you, we'll talk," replied Mr. Medrano and closed the door.

The house was deceptively silent as Mr. Medrano headed for the kitchen where his compadre Hilario was sitting. Everyone in the house knew what was happening but didn't dare to get near Mr. Medrano or even bring up the subject. Even the kids who would normally be running around the house or out in the porch and yard knew something was up and kept silent.

Now, neither Mr. Medrano nor his compadre Hilario were drinking men. Hilario had seven daughters, two of them of marrying age, which among migrant families could be as young as 14 or 15. This was permitted as long as the couple paid the proper respect and didn't bring shame to the families. Often, the couples would travel with the extended families and lived in the same labor camps of houses.
That night, a stillness filled the farmhouse where the two families lived. Amada's younger brother Andres was sitting in a foyer near the kitchen and saw his father and his compadre sitting alone at the kitchen table sharing a bottle of whiskey by themselves,

That in itself was unusual since neither was known as a drinking man. With large families to feed and clothe and bills to pay back home, drinking was a luxury neither could afford.

The subject of Amanda's suitor having come to ask for her hand in marriage came up and he heard his father confide in his trusted compadre.
"Vinieron a pedir a mi'ja, compadre," his father told Hilario quietly as he sipped on his cup. "Como la ve? (They came to ask for my daughter. What do you think?)
His compadre thought about it for a while before he answered such a grave question.
"Pus ya cuando vienen a pedirlas es que ya se dieron ellas, compadre," Hilario answered. (When they come to  ask for them it's because they already gave themselves on their own.)
Quietly, both continued sipping on their cups.