D had stashed me in the single men's bunkhouse with a bunch of migrant fruit pickers from Mexico. These workers, and those with families who were assi...ned the tiny cabins next to the bunkhouse, came every year to help Mrs. D. She'd known some of them since they'd first come with their own parents. Others appeared or disappeared every year depending on their personal fortunes. A lucky few found themselves able to stay in Mexico on their own farms once they'd saved enough over the years or, as. From our first meeting, I was attracted to her. I didn't get the same vibe from her, but she was still friendly. We spent a bit of time together, talking and enjoying the ambience of Argentina.To be fair, I'm not sure she was as enraptured by the ambience as I was. She was born and raised in Argentina so I suspect the ambience was old hat to her back then.After many years, I joined Facebook to see what all the fuss was about. I had a number of friends and coworkers who were using the site and. More

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