Daily, my morning starts
as cranberry juice and ice float in the Lambeau Field glass.
The sharp, tangy taste lingers in my mouth.
I glance at the bottle: two men stand in a Wisconsin bog.
What did it take to make this?

Who are the people that make it?
What is the process?
Why harvest cranberries?
How do the farmers do it?
What did it take to make this?

Today at my uncle’s cabin, I stand in the heart of cranberry country.
I look over the Adam’s County bogs.
The farmers prepare and tend to their income.
A father teaches his son the family business.
What did it take to make this?

I watch as the cranberries suck through the pipe,
and land on the truck,
on their way to the Ocean Spray plant, and
then to the grocery store.
I see what it takes to make this.