My mother was a badass before anyone ever coined that word. My mother and I used to volunteer with Brother Benno when we lived in SoCal my first couple years of high school. He delivered food and other aid to undocumented migrants who slept in the fields they worked in at night. We’d pick squashes and other cold weather crops and I remember how chilly those moonlit nights could be. Under the current regime I wonder where that would’ve landed the three of us. Brother Benno was legendary, as was his work, and while his homemade bread was delicious, we’d pass on the creamed bologna.
