She digs in the pack she carries and pulls out a handful of leaves. I’m almost certain they’re the ones my mother uses. “Where’d you find those?” “Just around. We all carry them when we work in the orchards. They left a lot of nests there,” says Rue. “There are a lot here, too.” “That’s right. You’re District Eleven. Agriculture,” I say.
the history of black people being responsible for american agriculture.
