Free Harvesting Ashwood Minnesota 2037 by Cynthia Kraack

looked bright and unique. For most kids, six outfits and three pairs of shoes represented more hope than they had experienced in their deprived homes.
    When I came to Ashwood, I assigned each worker an adult mentor, but as the number of kids passed the number of adults, we moved into a buddy system of older children accepting responsibility for new arrivals. Our management team still stepped into a surrogate parent role with these little buddy groups. We all did night patrol, listening for lonely tears or sleepless kids.
    Ashwood’s workers represented many economic, ethnic, and racial backgrounds. But since my first Christmas on the estate we had never absorbed a group as large as the ten proposed in the urban initiative. Every estate feared the possibility of gang issues coming into their workforce with older metro kids. From symbols buzzed into short hair to small forbidden tattoos, we inspected every new assigned worker.
    On the way to the DOE building, my thoughts focused on our upcoming phone call. Sitting down, I made a list of strategies for opting out of the Bureau’s new assignments. When the others arrived, the conference with Joel began.
    “I’ll give you an off-the-record summary of what’s happened in the Minneapolis circuit this summer,” Joel began. “The news you see barely covers the depth of poverty saturating the city. Kids schooled in the general education system have high testing failure rates, keeping them out of job-training programs. Their parents’ wages aren’t covering rising food costs, so many families are experiencing hunger. I wouldn’t say we’re anywhere near starvation, but officials are scrambling to get ahead of the situation.”
    Beyond the conference screen, I watched Ashwood outside my windows. A group of girls kicked a soccer ball in the open yard, ignoring the heat in that resilient way of youth. Phoebe’s curly head bobbed in the younger girls’ section. One of our patrol dogs chased sticks thrown by two boy workers sitting just beyond the girls. These kids had rounded faces, muscled arms and legs, shining hair.
    “The Bureau has identified about five hundred kids for worker program assignment.” Joel looked tired; maybe working beyond the typical bureaucratic end of day sapped his energy. “These new assignees are all far beyond the normal age of program initiation—most are at least twelve and a few are as old as fifteen.”
    “That doesn’t make any sense,” I interjected. “Workers enter the system when they’re young so an individual development plan can be put in place to maximize the estates’ schools. By their late teens, the best we can do is impact work behavior.”
    Paul nodded in agreement. “Sounds to me like these kids don’t fit the original profile or have parents who don’t like the thought of signing them into the system. Now there are issues and these kids are too young to force into factories or the military.”
    Bureau legal counsel remained silent. Outside the window Phoebe fell as she ran, rolled gracefully, and caught up with the small crew of girls. Not one of our workers feared for their safety within Ashwood’s boundaries, which gave them the security to study, work, or chase a soccer ball. We relied on their hard physical work to keep the estate productive. They relied on us to offer a protective environment where they could learn and grow.
    “Joel.” I continued to watch Phoebe as I spoke. This fight was for her and my sons and all our workers. “We’ve run the numbers. If these assignments are made, we’ll significantly downsize the number of community laborers and workers at both Ashwood and Giant Pines. There isn’t enough work to support additional workers, even if they are trained.” I placed one hand flat on the table and raised the other as if taking an oath. “We will lay off community workers first, all the kids working in our greenhouses and barns who are not residents. That means they’ll be dumped on the