(Mrs. Holley was the third generation of a Southern family in California. She wrote this on being able to return permanently to the South.)
The cotton fields grow row after row, we saw them from Grandad’s back seat,
The twins and I arms and legs stuck together in the dawg days summer heat.
The cotton fields grow row after row, we saw them from Grandad’s back seat,
Until giving way to a palm lined driveway,
Leading up to the mansion in ruins.
There were no slaves then, only Grandad and kin,
Pickin’ cotton and workin’ the gin,
His name was Jack Hagins,
His daddy was Lundy,
His daddy, James Smiley Hagans.
More @ The Abbeville Institute
My grandpa dragged his family around Cali back in the days. Lived in tents and picked crops. My mom speaks of it terribly. Said grandpa made moonshine to make extra money. One day the feds came and raided the camp. Grandpa managed to stay out of jail somehow. He always had a little farm and he taught me to drive a stick on a old red 3 speed tractor. We picked beans and cotton one summer. Cotton ain't no joke. It hurts for real. I'm glad we did it. I miss that man.
ReplyDeleteI miss that man.
DeleteThanks and write it all down. Reminds me of Mr. Bowen. https://www.namsouth.com/viewtopic.php?t=2211&highlight=bowen
Tammy Wynette picked cotton in Mississippi starting at the age of seven.
ReplyDeleteAt age 7, she began working long days picking cotton with her family, a lesson in hard work she never forgot. Even after Wynette found fame as a singer, she kept a crystal bowl full of cotton in her home to remind herself of those days in the cotton field.
Basically, she had a sad life even after becoming famous.
Basically, she had a sad life even after becoming famous.
DeleteThat's too bad and I just read up on her.