Cotton Landscapes Take My Breath

                    The cotton is flowering; some is making bolls.  Soon, the fields will be covered with white gold, like snow blanketing a winter landscape.
                    Cotton picking is coming later and later, it seems. My husband’s memory of Labor Day involves picking cotton for cash to be spent on carnival rides, games, and cotton candy during the annual Rector Labor Day Picnic.  I have no personal knowledge of that, of course, as my knowledge of cotton once came from a garment tag.
                    Being raised in south Arkansas, I was indoctrinated with the timber business and oil.  Becoming a baroness of either or both was a goal, never accomplished.  Planting pine seedlings, walking the rows, selecting cut areas happened under my turned-up nose.  If it involved dirt, I was not really interested.  Royalty checks were another matter altogether.

              In northeast Arkansas, though, farming is a way of life.  Today, farms are enterprises and conglomerates.  Farm managers direct the multi-million/billion dollar business.  Watching the markets for cotton as opposed to corn is of great interest, and farmers often plant both.  I’ve learned a lot.  The business end of cotton growing and harvesting is very interesting, but it’s the beauty that captivates me.
               As far as the eye can behold, horizon to horizon, cotton will soon cover the land.  Machines that resemble dinosaurs will rumble through the fields, picking, tumbling, aerating, and forming the fluffy bolls into compact modules ready for the gin. My husband’s dad was an expert ginner, always able to provide his customers the best dollar for the longest and finest strand, so his son's stories about ginning cotton interest me.  When I visited my first cotton gin, the sights and sounds were stunning.
            Living over 40 years in Memphis, the Mighty Mississippi elevates my heart rate.  Rivers, railroads, and magnolia blossoms still quicken my spirit. But, as of late, cotton landscapes take my breath.





(Jared Vaughan Artworks, NE Arkansas cotton field)