It was the first time I finally noticed all the lettuce surrounding Yuma. They call it the lettuce capital of America, and for good reason: everywhere I turned, if there wasn’t a building, there was a lettuce farm. Even in front of the library lay large fields of lettuce. 

I also noticed more activity on these lettuce farms. More trucks— and more workers. Some of the fields were already being cleared of lettuce, leaving behind little bits of chewed up green stems and leaves. 

The hotel I usually stay at was booked quite full. I know it’s coming up on the high season for medical tourism, but I wasn’t really seeing a strong correlation between the full booking and the stereotypical medical tourism crowd in the breakfast nook each morning: The 60+ crowd, usually traveling as couples, all sharing their stories about which dental procedures they came to get done in Los Algodones, the small Mexican town just minutes away from Yuma.

Instead the hotel seemed a bit more quiet. That is, until the evening.

I first noticed it when I glanced into a room as I passed by on my way to get some dinner. The usual king-sized bed had been replaced with several bunk beds. At first I thought that it must be a family that has taken up residence in the hotel; perhaps they have been there long enough that they’ve been able to remove the furniture and set themselves up in such a way. 

When I returned I realized what was really happening. I walked into the hotel lobby and saw a lineup of men; they had set up a small table and were serving a meal out of a large pot. It was like a mini soup kitchen being hosted in the hotel. When I walked the hall to my room, I saw more open doors; the tenants were more active. Many were men carrying the same bowls I saw being served downstairs. And all of them were rooms with these same crammed bunk beds, about 6-8 per room. 

They were there for the harvest. 

There were no women or children. These weren’t families. These were single men who had come for the busy months of the lettuce harvest in the lettuce capital Yuma. Splitting the costs of rooms between 6 to 8 people meant maximizing profits to send back home— wherever home may be. I had heard about this phenomenon all across the US; many times several people cramming into a single apartment to minimize costs and maximize remittances. Here in Yuma, it was with hotels. Even better— less need for identity or proof of residence to formally rent an apartment, especially if only staying for a few months. 

The room cleaner had heavily sprayed my room with perfume, so I opened the window to air out my room a bit. Down below my window was the small yard and swimming pool of the hotel. As I chatted on WhatsApp with friends in Nicaragua and Honduras, the sound of guitar— and singing— wafted into my window. This hotel had a little community of workers, bonded together by their same work, their same goal, same language, and same understanding of their purpose in Yuma. 

It reminded me of those seasons in life that we have— those unique experiences that we live through, only to realize years later how much they meant to us. I wondered if these men would feel the same. If they would one day look back on those early months of the year and remember gathering together with other men, singing and playing guitar, living in bunks, waking up to the same goal in the morning. I wondered if it felt like a brotherhood, a comraderie. Maybe I was just romanticizing it. 

The next morning they were gone before I had even woken up. Back to the breakfast nook things looked superficially normal. The few seniors watching the news as they ate their breakfast, all there also for their same purpose in Yuma. Except that we come and go at a shorter pace. 

Yuma is a little trade town of sorts, a port between two countries where the citizens of each take advantage of the opportunity provided by the other. We use Yuma as our launching pad to saving thousands of dollars on medical care. They use Yuma as the launching pad to the dreams at home— building a home, providing for a family, making a better life for their children. We are all taking advantage of the inequality between the two nations. For us, it’s to save thousands per medical procedure in a lower cost of living country. For them, it’s to get out of that low cost of living country and make their money count for more. Just like we are making our money count for more. 

It’s an advantage to us all, and I fully support it. Some of us need to escape the high costs and pressures of expensive medical care. Some of us need to escape the high pressures of living somewhere that has little to no opportunity for work. We get our dental care— and we get out lettuce harvested. And they receive income into their communities spread all across Mexico and Central America. 

Forever when I enjoy a salad, I am going to hear the strumming of the guitar, the singing, the quiet chatter and laughter of a group of men who have come for their purpose in Yuma.