Choppin’ Cotton
Wed, 03/05/2014 - 15:09
News Staff
By Kathy Spencer
The shimmering lines of dry heat vibrate across the horizon. The locust are whirring their eternal song. Sweat begins to sting inside of my brown cotton gloves. The blisters have popped open. It’s only ten o’clock and my scalp is feeling moist and itchy. Hoeing cotton is a state of mind. Traveling down the beautifully tall, green rows, I think back to the first time I entered into the institution of the cotton patch. Now, grant you, as the song says……”I Never Picked Cotton.”