Arkansas Memories; Pickin Cotton or Cotton Pickin: Ive thought about this little story for quite awhile and for the life of me I do not understand how anyone could enjoy picking cotton. Without a doubt this task is one of the most unpleasant, hot, backbreaking, and for me the most difficult cotton picking task I have ever undertaken. My Mom and Dad were married in the early years of the Great Depression. At the time neither of them had any marketable skills (Mom had worked in a boarding house helping the owner and Dad had worked the fields) so they both went to work chopping (hoeing) or picking cotton to survive. I remember Mom saying that they picked cotton for a penny a pound in exchange for a slip of paper (script), indicating the amount owed, that could be exchanged for food or needed items at Barn Thompsons General Store in Hartman, Arkansas. So Mom knew how difficult the job was for such a small amount of pay before she took her family to the cotton fields to pick cotton. I dont remember who suggested going to pick cotton, my Mom or my brother Norman (Norman was always looking for a way to earn money). Mom could not drive at the time her little family went cotton picking but, Norman had just learned to drive and for some reason Dads car was at home, so we had transportation to go to Hartman bottoms where the cotton fields were located. As indicated before, Mom knew the ropes of cotton picking because she grew up in Harman and had picked cotton before. She knew the person picking cotton must bring their own cotton sack . Using old scraps of material she sewed together two cotton sacks and we were prepared. The day she chose to go cotton picking had to be the hottest day of the year but, we went anyway. On the way we stopped at Garretts store at Shady Grove for lunch which consisted of store bought bread, mustard, sliced baloney and sliced cheese. Being young (about nine or ten years old), I personally felt like we were going on a big adventure complete with a picnic lunch. Mom didnt go anywhere without her kids so Betty and Paul was with us and they both were not very old. Bob had not yet fully recovered from his leg injury so he was given the job of baby sitter while Mom, Norman and I picked cotton. Bob took up residence under a shade tree with Betty and Paul while Mom and Norman went to work picking cotton. I had no sack so the cotton I picked went into Moms sack. As I recall cotton had to be picked that had a boll fully open, was completely dry and fluffy. In short no green damp cotton was allowed to enter the cotton sack. Therefore, it takes a lot of cotton to make a pound of cotton. And cotton picking was paid by the pound just as it was to my Mom and Dad. All I remember about that great adventure is how long the rows were, how hot it was, how much my back hurt by day end and how bloody my fingers were caused by cuts from the dry sharp edges (squares) of the boll. Mom retold this story many times over the years and she always ended it with we barely made enough money to pay for our lunch! Needless to say we never returned to the cotton patch to pick that cotton picking cotton again! I think Mom knew what she was doing...another of lifes lessons learned! When I travel in the south or southwest I often see cotton fields, sometimes in full bloom and sometimes ready for picking. I have to admit they are a beautiful sight to behold but, not to remember! Jerry Marvel
Posted on: Mon, 14 Jul 2014 14:09:02 +0000