Today’s writing prompts at The Daily Post is the word, lofty.


Lofty. I rarely use the word, if ever. I had trouble writing anything intelligent using this writing prompt so, I googled it. The phrase ‘lofty aspirations’ came up first.

Let’s go with that.

In the mid-70s I was in junior high school, which is now known as middle school. I didn’t care much for studying, and certainly had no plans of going on to college. Surprisingly, I was astute enough to realize that eventually I would have to get some sort of job in order to support myself.

Now, what type of career could a probable high-school drop-out manage that would require minimal effort and education? Suddenly, it came to me. I would pursue a career as a migrant farm worker. YES!

What could be more perfect? I ask you. I’d get to travel, see the country, and live among the flora & fauna.

Bonus: I’d get to meet guys. Lottsa guys! They’d be the swarthy, suntanned, handsome, and muscular fellows of which I dreamt. I’d pick one and we’d fall in love, get married, and live happily ever after.

Groovy. It was settled. My future was planned out, and I could quit school tomorrow.

But wait. Where does one apply for a migrant farm workers’ position? I checked the want-ads in the newspaper, and there was no such category. Then, I remembered hearing something about Salinas, CA having many such opportunities.

Double-dog-groovy! I’d hitchhike from Denver to Salinas. What an adventure that would be, no? Maybe I’d find Mr. Right (Mr. Close-Enough?) before I even get to CA, and wouldn’t have to bother getting a job at all!

Fortunately, none of the above came to pass.

I tried to recruit a friend of mine to come along. She was all for it until her older brother found out about it. He quickly and effectively knocked the stars out of our eyes by explaining exactly what life as a migrant worker was all about.

Oh, we came up  with a Plan B, for sure, but that’s a story for another prompt.

Castroville, CA


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