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'Tall green sugar cane surrounded our homes as far as my eyes could see. Our camps were separated from one another until harvest time when the fields were completely burned and the clusters of wooden homes appeared naked against the red dirt. My father and the other men of the camp came home after work with dust-covered faces and clothing; only their eyes, protected by plastic goggles, were clean. Thoughts to themselves, they walked silently home on the dirt trail that started from the Bell House to the stone wall that overlooked a basketball court and Cagasan's corn rows. One by one, they peeled off from the trail to roads that led to their homes. They were too tired to talk, maybe bored, or possibly they missed their families in the Philippines.'
Excerpt from Spirit of the Village A Maui Memoir