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Another year, another photo album! The folks at TextAmerica.com, where I house all the family photos, have decided to start charging $100 bucks for the privilege of using their site. So I hit the information super highway looking for a new my photos can call home. The winner of this illusive contract is Flickr.com. I haven't poked around the site too much yet, but it seems to be the choice of many a blogger so we'll give it a try. Most importantly, it's free!
So please change your bookmarks, favorites, whatever it is you have too.... www.flickr.com/photos/edsouth and join us over there for all the photographic fun!
There's pictures of our Christmas holiday there now. They are a little out of order since I was just experimenting with the site, but I'll get the hang of it soon! I hope to have a full write-up on all of our family holiday happenings later this evening or as soon as I get another break from putting toys together!
Happy Holidays and Thanks for Reading!
I was one of the boys who worked at Sewell's Orchards. The quantity of us putting time in there probably amounted to a few hundred, as each spring brought a fresh batch of sixteen to seventeen year olds (farm labor was allotted an exemption to the minimum age and wage law) to work at Sewell's Orchard. The labor intensive period started the late spring, peaked in the summer, and (for the survivors considered really dedicated) into early fall.
The passing of time has cast a filter over memories of those times, casting them in a golden glow. However, I do vaguely recall ten-hour days (with paid lunch!) in sweltering weather under sunny blue skies with peach fuzz grinding into the skin like asbestos. So I returned several years ago, after the landscape was covered with houses to see the changes.It was sort of a surrealistic experience. I recognized where the irrigation ponds had been, the names of the streets roughly approximated where the different varieties of fruit trees had stood, and the hills and the dales remained in place. I even found Donald Sewell's and Ronald Sewell's houses were still present.
I knocked on what used to be the home of Donold Sewell. I expected a tall, strongly built man with dark sunglasses to open the door and tell me that the hired labor couldn't come up to the house. Instead, a teenager opened the door and patiently listened to me tell of my days on the Orchard. He gave me a tour of the house and I gave him an address and phone to contact (his mother was intending to write a book about the Orchard, I never received a letter or phone call, so I guess it didn't happen.)I took a final look around the development with a bit of sadness (but to be honest, I didn't miss that peach fuzz) and went on to visit family who continued to live in the region. -David Arnett