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October 5, 2001
The other day, Mel was feeling a little nostalgic and, for the first time, told me about some of his experiences picking cotton in the late 1940s...
"Some people hit the ground runnin'. I hit the ground pickin' cotton," he said. "First time I went to the cotton patch, Mama put me on a pallet under th' cotton wagon. I remember layin' there, watchin' people comin' in with sacks full of cotton to be weighed.. To a li'l fellar, 'em sacks looked nine miles long. Lot of 'em would have anywhur from 150 to 200 pounds o' cotton in 'em. Then it'd take a coupla big people to throw 'at sack up in th' cotton wagon an' empty it out. When they come to the cotton wagon, they'd drag 'em burlapped wrapped jugs out to git 'em a drank. Then ever'body'd get a chew of tobakker—men an' women.
"We'd start pickin' cotton in August. Us kids wuz expected to pull our share o' th' load. If not, you got swatted with a cotton stalk, an' when it comes to stingin', I'll put a cotton stalk right up aginst Mama's peach switch. You started pickin' at first light an' everybody'd stop about noon to eat lunch an' take a quick rest. Then we'd go back an' pick 'til four, take another break an' pick cotton 'til the sun went down. I've seen a many a cotton sack weighed by th' light of a kerosene lantern or the headlights of a ol' car.
"You had differ'nt kinda cotton pickers. Some would never say a word, an' nem fingers'd be movin' up 'n down 'em stalks like a Sanger sewin' machine. Then some of 'em tawked like a magpie, always complainin' or tellin' about what plans they had. Some people walked 'tween the rows and pulled two rows at a time. Then you had people who'd take one row and straddle it, strip it with thur fangers on the way up 'stead o' pickin' it. So eben back then, we had our strippers 'n pickers.
"Daddy'd always put some watermelon seed in the cotton seed as kiney a treat. The trick wuz to find a melon an' see if you could get it eat 'fore anybody caught you. When you's through, you'd hold up the empty rind like a trophy.
"Once the wagon was loaded, we'd hook 'er up to our ol' B Model sedan an' head fer the gin. That gin'd be boilin' up dust, but I liked to go 'cause Daddy' an' me would drank us a coke.
"It was always a race ever' year between all the farmers in the county to see who could make the first bale of cotton. I remember one year my daddy made the first bale of cotton in Johnson County. An' ever' department store in Cleburne an' ever' grocery store an' ever'body that wuz anybody sent us free gift certificates.
"It was a lot of hard work, but at least it was only for a brief time," I remarked.
"That was jist the pickin', girl," Mel replied. "You'd start hoein' in July, an' you'd hoe 'at sucker all day long, 'til you flat couldn't hoe an' walk no more. I guarantee you didn't need no gym to get exercise, an' nobody to rock you to sleep 'at night neither.
"There was camaraderie in the cotton patch, an' at th' end of th' harvest, we'd have a weenie roast or a ice cream supper to celebrate. That part was nice, but I know one thang...I shore ain't lonesome for a cotton sack right now."
