In late 1991, a student housing delay at FIT temporarily paused my move from northwest Ohio to Manhattan. Determined to fund my journey east, I took a job inside Campbell Soup’s surreal mushroom spawn laboratory in Napoleon—the very same corporate grounds where my mother had labored as a migrant field hand decades before. Between dodging explosive glass jars, maneuvering ton-heavy steel carts alongside coworkers, and coaxing a stubborn 1965 red Mustang down rural roads, there is a beautiful dignity of factory labor, generational roots, and the grit that paved my way to Seventh Avenue.