10/16/2026
The Milk
A Fieldwork Memory
Doing all this work in Atascosa County takes me back to my college days. I was a young man studying anthropology for the first time at Indiana University.
Conducting fieldwork for my anthropology courses was actually one of my favorite parts of college. Even in my undergrad, my professors had us out in the streets, interviewing subjects and attending city council meetings. That was my lane. I was a cultural anthropologist.
Anthropology has a lot of different lanes. Archaeology, forensics, linguistics, etc. I am interested in modern American culture, and I aim to understand why we act and behave the way we do. It’s always been perplexing to me. But during my coursework, I took many classes that had me interacting with other cultures.
There was one class. I cannot recall what it was called, but we had a final project. We were to help a group of refugees, each group getting their own family. We paired in twos. Luckily, I was paired with a friend.
The family we were paired with lived in Speedway, Indiana. Home of the Indianapolis 500, and now to them. We met with them once a week, helping them adjust to their new life in the States. My partner and I would drive from IUPUI’s campus in downtown Indianapolis and spend a few hours with them.
One of the first visits, and I don’t remember how this was a part of the assignment, but we helped them apply to aid programs and even took them grocery shopping at Meijer. I wish I remembered how we got there, because I know we didn’t take my tiny two door coupe.
I remember being in the grocery aisles with the older kids of the family. The parents didn’t speak English so this worked better. I imagined what it must be like coming from where they did, seeking refuge, and then exploring a grocery store with two college students. The group we worked with was from the Congo.
We explained how the prices worked and told them to get what they needed. They purchased milk and other items that I honestly forget. Maybe I forgot because at one point they filled the cart with at least five bulk sized bags of rice.
I remember the cart so distinctly and the male loading the bags with two hands as they landed heavily in it. At the time I wondered why they would need so much rice. But, now I understand how bulk grocery shopping works.
We pushed the heavy cart to the front of the store. We explained how the checkout works and how to use their card. After all, the goal was for them to eventually do this themselves. We left the store with a lot of rice and all the food they could need for a few weeks. Mission accomplished.
We drove them back to their apartment and helped get the groceries to their upstairs apartment. My partner and I sat on the couch as they put their items away.
So we are sitting there with the teenagers, probably chatting. One of the parents is standing in the kitchen making some sort of drink. Eventually, the older teenagers went to the kitchen and returned with two giant styrofoam cups. I’m talking like a cup you had to hold with both hands. Literally, a giant cup.
They smiled as they brought them. I felt honored and kind of awkward, really. Receiving gifts is weird. But this felt like more than a gift. We had spent the afternoon helping them navigate a place that was new to them, and now they were sharing something with us. For a moment, we weren't just the college students there to help. We were guests in their home.
The steam rose from the cup, and when they handed it to me, I felt its warmth. Some of the rice from the five bags they had purchased had found its way into it. It smelled like baby formula, and I worried that refusing it would come across as disrespectful.
The family gathered around, smiling as I tried to find an appropriate reaction. I smiled back and put my mouth to the styrofoam cup. I felt like they all watched, anticipating something. I sipped and smiled. This is good, I said. It honestly wasn’t bad.
I made it about halfway through before my gut started begging me to stop. I kept sipping anyway, partly because I didn't want to offend anyone and partly because I wasn't sure how to politely get out of the situation.
I honestly can't remember whether I finished the whole thing. I probably did. Either way, it's one of those fieldwork experiences I'll never forget.
And it's those kinds of moments that drive me to do this work.
