Harvest Time

When you grow up on a family farm, you pay attention to the seasons. Wintertime is quiet, as crops are "laid by." Spring means the honeysuckle has begun to engulf pasture fences, and you can pull tiny drops of sweetness right out of the flowers and have a taste. Summer is all about the vegetable garden—planting, picking, canning, and freezing. And then there's the fall harvest. While I appreciate advances in technology, I miss the old cotton wagons that got replaced by giant mechanized modules. When I was a kid, cotton wagons were THE playground of choice. Most of the year, they were empty, but for about a month or two in the fall—after raising your right hand and promising your mother that you had checked your pockets three times to make sure they were empty and removed all jewelry so there was no chance you could drop anything in the cotton that might set the gin on fire—you could climb up in those wagons and tumble around on a huge puffy cloud. You could smell the fields on the cotton lint and look out at the world from high above. Soon the big machines will roll again, pulling soft white fibers from prickly bolls. I haven't been part of the festivities for a long time. But this year, I mean to take at least an afternoon or two and be there. Maybe I can even pester my cousins enough to get a ride on the picker:)

Comments

[candy mccranie hicks]

Wondeful story ! ! ! One time I got to stay for a whole week in the Summer and Nannette would spend time with me and Bud and Chick would carry me around on their backs and let me go to the fields for alittle while.
At six years old such uncles become lifetime heros.
Your stories help me remember those happy times. Thanks Cuz :) The pics are GREAT too. :)

[valerieluesse]

Aw! Great story yourself! I know what you mean about those uncles. Aunt Patsy used to fry an extra chicken leg and put it in Uncle Bud's lunchbox for me so I could have a treat when he came in from the field to have his lunch at Grandme's house:)