Writing: ‘¿Y dónde están tus botas?’ by JAREK ORTA

"¿Y dónde están tus botas?" This was the frantic question that greeted me one morning as my
dad and I were in the truck defrosting the windshield. In my rush, I forgot my boots by the
patio door. "Oops. One sec, Dad," I said, as I dashed back to retrieve them. It was just another
Saturday, heading to our family business: Orta Gardening Supply Inc.

Arriving at the store at 5:00 AM meant you were already late. The plant, grass, and soil
delivery drivers were already at the front gate. By the time we finished unloading everything,
it was 6 AM, and it was time to open for customers.

Orta Gardening is, and has been, my Saturday and vacation spot. Despite the early hours and
long days, I have seen my first glimpses into the close-knit community I have been embedded
in. It was more than just a place for plants; it was where immigrant gardeners' stories
intertwined, forming a unique bond rooted in shared backgrounds.

Working at the nursery is a right of passage to be an Orta Torta. More importantly, this
honorable badge is a reflection of my relationships within the community and the hard work
and resilience that come with it. As I immersed myself in the stories of immigrant gardeners
and watched the rich culture of my family's business, I became inspired to bring a piece of
this culture into my own life. Engaging with people at Orta Nursery gave me insight into the
experiences of many Hispanic immigrants striving to better their lives and support their
families. I grew to know early-bird clients and delivery drivers, now calling them by their
nicknames such as El Niño, Tamalero, and Orejón.

As I prepare for a day filled with tasks, the distant voice of my dad is already directing me to
specific chores. "Baja el Cempasúchil de la troca de reparto," he instructed. Adán, hearing
into the conversation, chimes in, "Aprender juntos es crecer juntos," while assisting me in
carefully placing the Cempasúchitl plants in their designated spots. And of course, “Do the
work yourself,” says my dad as he stands there watching over us. “Ten en cuenta lo que dije,”
Adan whispers to me as we both laugh at our dad’s seriousness. Even though we're just
tagged as "workers," these folks bring a ton of wisdom to the table, pushing me forward. And
even my dad's serious vibe, tricky as it is to admit, adds excitement to my journey.

As I'm just getting started, I get hit with, "Dile a Adan que agregue dos scoops de grava a la
troca blanca." Before I can even respond, it's, "I need 20 bags of steer manure and two 5
gallons of Hydrangeas." Trying to assure them I got it covered, I get cut off by someone else
in a rush, "Necesito dos de triple crown de 50 kilos y el árbol de limón lo tengo apartado el
miércoles." Right next to him, the guy says, "Necesito 30 rollos de pasto." In just five minutes, I'm drowning in requests. And the worst part? My lunch is the first casualty. And forget about that 10-minute break where I'd stroll a block down to catch my favorite food truck parked under a tree by the gas station. Saturdays always manage to swipe that simple pleasure away from me. Despite the hectic hours on these Saturdays, the experience is genuinely rewarding and comforting. It's not just about navigating through demanding tasks; it's about being surrounded by heartwarming individuals who genuinely want to see me succeed and push me further. In this environment, I not only acquire new skills and knowledge but also contribute to my community in a unique and meaningful way. Being a part of the nursery requires more than just plant knowledge, timely deliveries, and a good work ethic, but more so a steady relationship with clients, workers, and distributors. I aided in breaking the language barriers that so many of my co-workers face in what little time we had during our lunch breaks. We discussed common phrases to broaden our
vocabulary in both Spanish and English. Our efforts improved customer service and showed
our commitment to personal growth and community. Through the process of breaking the
language barriers within the nursery, I was able to share my support and skills with a
broader community.

I’ll admit, sometimes I just wish I could leave my work boots by the door, hit the snooze
button, or maybe make up a story of having a severe headache, especially on Saturdays. But I
don’t. I get up week after week.

Today it is 4:15 AM and I find myself telling my dad, “Hurry up, sleepyhead, we’re late.” 5:00
AM and most of the truck's plant, grass, and soil are already unloaded. As the sunlight gently
touches the nursery's entrance, the delivery drivers find a welcoming sight – a fresh cup of
coffee and some pan dulce. In these early hours, the essence of our bond is embodied in a
Spanish saying, "Un buen café y pan caliente, hasta el próximo sábado." In both the nursery
and my school communities, my experiences have grown beyond routine – they have become
the stories that shape my aspirations and underline the importance of community, shared
growth, and lasting connections.

So maybe next Saturday, you’ll hear me ask my dad, “¿Y dónde están tus botas?”