During my early childhood the cotton on our farm, as well as that of our neighbors, was harvested by hand. I picked a little cotton, but not enough to pretend that the hot work shaped my outlook on life. It was, however, because of cotton that I got my first experience with buying something on credit.
I often went to the field with Daddy to weigh up. There might be a dozen or so folks there who had picked cotton all day. They walked down the rows, pulled the fluffy cotton from the burrs and put it into their sacks. Then they emptied their sacks on to burlap sheets at the end of the rows.
Robert Richardson always had more cotton than the others. I don’t know much about his father’s side of the family, but his mother Daisy was part of the Lawson family. The Lawsons had a reputation as strong, honest, hard-working people who were also blessed with jovial dispositions. I admired Robert for always picking more cotton than the others. I’m sure there were days he was exhausted, but it didn’t show in his demeanor.
Weighing the cotton was done with a scale that was attached to a sturdy pole of about six feet long. A man would stand on each end of the pole and Daddy would hang one of the tied burlap sheets onto the scale’s dangling hook. The men would lift it off the ground, making sure it cleared. Daddy would write down the weight beside the name of each person’s sheet. Sometimes Daddy would hold one end of the pole and I would read the scales, a task I understood in which accuracy was important.
My approach to picking cotton was quite unremarkable. Because of that history I was given a short and well-worn sack for my expeditions to the field. It was more than adequate to accommodate my efforts, but that’s not how my young mind worked.
Joiner’s Store was just up the road from us. Uncle Emmett kept charge tickets for Daddy and most of the folks in the Third District community. He would write it down when something was bought, then people would settle up with him weekly or maybe monthly. I had some understanding of the concept of credit at an early age. Twice a day, when we were working, we could charge a drink and a snack on Daddy’s bill. A Coke or a Pepsi with a Moon Pie was standard fare.
I’m not sure why I thought a new cotton sack would improve my picking skills, but it was like the call of the sirens that sailors hear on the ocean. I asked Uncle Emmett if I could charge it and pay him back when I picked some cotton. He didn’t try to talk to me out of it or tell me I’d have to ask Daddy. He sent me on my way with that new cotton sack and my own charge account.
It didn’t take long for me to figure out that Robert Richardson’s phenomenal weigh-ins had nothing to do with having a bigger or better-looking cotton sack. What I found out was that long sack got heavy when it was filled. And I realized that the highly welcomed breaks from the hot work came less often. It took longer to fill up the sack, so it was longer between needing to empty it on the sheet. It was longer between drinking water from the mason jar in the shade at the end of the field.
I paid for the sack, but I was glad to retire it when Daddy bought a one-row tractor-mounted picker. I’d had a good lesson about easy credit, a valuable long-term reminder to use caution when spending money that I don’t have. Perhaps, however, there was another lesson of even more value.
There’s an old saying, “All that glitters isn’t gold.” I didn’t realize it at the time, but Uncle Emmett helped me to understand that adage. I believed that new sack would transform my picking to legendary status. I don’t know why I thought that way. It seems quite foolish as I look back, even for a kid of maybe nine or ten.
But the thing that strikes me as even more foolish is how easy it is to ignore lessons already learned. It can happen to any of us. We see that new cotton sack and we’re smitten by its looks. We like the fresh scent of the material and the smooth texture. If we only had that new cotton sack, we’re certain that life would be better.
I didn’t need a new cotton sack to pick like Robert Richardson. What I needed was a new attitude and more effort. That new sack was seldom filled to the top with cotton, but it was packed full of lessons that thankfully linger on
Oh my goodness! I can certainly identify with you on this. Mama and Daddy had a little country store and they sold cotton sacks. When I was really young, probably less than 10 years old, I had to have a new cotton sack. Granddaddy’s cotton field was behind our house, and I could not wait to get out there and pick with my brand new sack. My “cotton picking days” did not last long! Working in tobacco and picking watermelons was more my thing.
Everyone needs to read this!! Right on target!! Well done my friend!!
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Brings back so many memories. My sack was made out of a flour sack. Apparently they didn’t have much confidence in my picking skills!!!
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