They migrated to the United States when things in El Salvador got so bad.
There was more death than life for them there.
So they made their way through Guatemala and Mexico to the border on a train called The Beast.
A kind priest listened to their story and led them to an Underground Railroad that carried them to a church in Brownsville that gave them sanctuary.
From there they migrated across the south, dropping sweat and blood onto the plowed ground until they found themselves in South Carolina, many thousands of miles and heartbeats away from where they began.
They picked tomatoes and peaches near the coast of the Atlantic Ocean around Charleston, living in an old, broken down school bus.
Little Salt knew they’d move down the coast through Georgia to Florida as summer changed to fall changed to winter, and that they’d move back up the coast along that same migratory road as winter changed to spring changed to summer again.
He used to despair the migrating until he learned that whales are migrants, too.
This brought hope to his heart.
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