Pickin' Cotton

By Courtney Voss

“I started pickin' cotton when I was five years old,” said my grandpa, “Paw-Paw” as I call him, as he looked at me with a sly smile as if recalling days of working with his brothers and sisters in the cotton fields. We sat around the kitchen table and talked for hours about his childhood. My grandmother has an old picture of Paw-Paw and his family and had trouble recollecting the date it was taken. Grammy gingerly replied, “Oh, it was way back when.” Like many other families in the ‘30s, his family were sharecroppers and tended mostly to cotton. It seemed that many of my grandfather's memories stemmed from his life as a sharecropper and working with the machinery to harvest the crop.

In the South you were either rich or poor. The wealthy were landowners who stood at the top of the food chain, and the tenant farmers and sharecroppers were the plain “simple-folk” with little income. My grandfather, Billy Ray Voss, moved three different occasions in Arkansas from the time he was born until he was nine years old. Then his family moved to Oklahoma and later built a home in Missouri where they had one hundred acres of cotton to tend to.

“The landowner furnished the seed, and it was up then to our family to do all the chopping, the hoeing, and the plowing, tilling, and picking of the cotton” (Voss). Grandpa also says that “the landowner got a fourth of the crop.” Grandpa recalls a time living in Arkansas with his family working for his Uncle Maurice. They lived in a small house with no electricity. Kerosene lanterns lit the house. Living in the ‘30s may not seem so desirable to our “modern” generation, but this comment from my grandfather shows his true respect for the time and place that he came from: “We weren't as bad off as people looking back would think we were. I don't remember a time that we ever went to bed hungry. We didn't have the finest clothes, but I don't remember us going naked either.” People in this era may have grown up with few material things, but as you can see, it had no effect on their quality of life.

One piece of machinery was very important to the cotton industry, and that was the cotton gin. Eli Whitney invented it in 1793, and it then contributed to the vast increase in cotton production. According to Mary Bellis, this machine separated the cotton seed from the raw cotton fibers at a much faster rate than if it were done by hand. Grandpa can recall the times as a child when he was very fascinated with the loud roar and function of the gin. “There was one good thing about the cotton gin; it had a big ol’ tank of water, and we could swim in that -- what little bit I could swim at that time” (Voss).

After talking with my grandpa, I realize that our generation is spoiled. “People didn't have to have as much then as they think they have to have now” (Voss). Paw-Paw is a very wise ma,n and I am proud to be his granddaughter. I will treasure the stories that he has shared with me and share them with my children and grandchildren just like he did for me. His upbringing was so very different than my own, and I look with only pride at the history of where I come from.

Works Cited

Bellis, Mary. “The Cotton Gin and Eli Whitney.” About.com Inventors. The New York Times Company, 2011. Web. 13 Sep. 2011.

Voss, Billy. Personal interview. 9 Sep. 2011.

Note: Courtney Voss, who is from Carthage, NC, is pursuing an associate in science degree at Sandhills Community College.

Good Ol’ Days

By Darlene Brown

Some may say growing up in the Sandhills area of Scotland County was a simple and uncomplicated way of life. Compared to the affairs of the world today, it may seem as such. Although families did not worry about home invasions or gang-like violence, the way of life for those who experienced it was all but simple. Growing up in a family of sharecroppers, country living was definitely not a life of luxury but a complicated life of hard work, necessity and family bonding. A close family friend, who experienced the life of working on a farm during the “good ol’ days,” revealed to me a real-life account of the tedious routines of growing up in the Sandhills of Scotland County.

My interviewee, whom we will call Mrs. H., told of her personal experiences living on a farm. Mrs. H. said she did not go to school because school was not a high priority. She recalls that at the age of nine her typical day was to get up at sunrise and go outside to the water pump; she would wash up with lye soap in cold water. Then she would carry water into the house for her younger siblings to wash their faces. She would next start the wood-burning stove to cook breakfast for her siblings because her parents had already gone to the tobacco fields where they made a living for the family as sharecroppers. Mrs. H. was so small that she had to stand on a soapbox to reach the top of the wood stove. She would prepare a breakfast that consisted of homemade biscuits, fatback meat, and syrup. Unfortunately, the fire would go out in the process of cooking; therefore, she would have to walk barefoot into the woods, chop, gather, and haul wood back home to keep the fire burning.

After getting her siblings washed and fed, it was time for her many chores. Mrs. H. said she had to “shoo” the chickens from under the porch of the house, which was a difficult task because the dilapidated porch, which had holes and cracks, allowed the chickens to see her coming, and they would run farther and farther underneath the porch and house. After that task was completed, she pumped water for the mules, fed the horses, milked the cows, and slopped the pigs. Next was the task of washing clothes; she drew water from the hand pump and collected it in a large tin tub. Lye soap was served for multiple uses of washing the body as well as the laundry. A washboard was used to scrub the clothes clean. After cleaning the clothes, they were drooped across the bushes in the yard to dry and watched carefully by the younger ones to keep the cows and mules from gnawing on the clothes.

Yet, the day’s work had just begun. Now she had to cater to her parents who were out in the tobacco field. She would wait for the iceman to come around and pay 25 cents for a chunk of ice, which she would wrap in a cotton sheet and chip using an ice pick. Then she would gather clean Mason jars, a bucket, and a ladle to carry the water and sandwiches to the field for her parents. She did this daily until her “time and age came around”; Mrs. H. was then taken to the field by her father and taught how to “suckle” tobacco — known today as topping, which is taking the flower tops off the tobacco stalks and clearing growth from around the roots of the plants.

During her childbearing years, Mrs. H. would carry her baby to the field in a crib, put the crib at the foot of her row under a big oak tree, and place a cotton mesh sheet over the crib to protect the baby from flies and mosquitoes. Then she would then go about her duty of “priming tobacco.” Along with working in the field, she also worked as a tobacco stringer and as a market preparer, which consisted of stringing tobacco leaves on sticks and hanging them in tin barn to be cooked.

Regardless of what Mrs. H. has been through or what has been taken from her, she still fines joy in giving someone a piece of her wisdom from her youthful years in the old South. She managed to survive on the food of her farm, which is actually healthier than the processed food we have today. She also made sure that her younger brothers and sisters went to school while she took care of the house when her parents were away in the fields. Mrs. H. also made sure that her parents had food ready after their long day of work. Her family benefited every day from her hard work.

Work Cited

McLaughlin, Hattie. Personal interview. 10 Sep. 2011.

Note: Darlene Brown, who is from Wagram, NC, is a student at Sandhills Community College in the medical office administration program.

Way Back When

by Declan Freswick

To learn about living in the past, talk to one of your grandfathers. I learned how much more difficult life was back in those times from Ashley Derrell Blackburn, my grandfather who was born on July 28, 1938 to a large family on a farm. The economic struggle of the present relate to the examples of life then.

Ashley Blackburn was born into a family with six brothers and two sisters. His family members were sharecroppers to their landlord. As the landlord furnished the land and fertilizer, his family tended the land, raised the crops, harvested them, and sold the crops. He explained, “The landlord would take about half the profit, most of the time he would screw us over, but that’s the way things go.” The tractors they had back then were actually mules and plows. The mules were named Red, Pea Wee, and Chim Charlie. He told me every day they worked in the fields from the earliest they could start until the sun went down, even during school days.

He explained a typical day as a child going to school. “We would walk half a mile to catch the bus.” After school was out, the children went straight home to work in the field. Going to school was valued during that time for many reasons. They were happy spending time in school rather than working hard in the field. Another reason schooling was valued was only families of the wealthy had the chance to be educated. This made me cherish the fact it is so easy for me to further my education.

Delicious meals were also valued in that time. “I loved when we got the chance to eat some good fried chicken,” my grandfather replied when asked about his favorite meal as a child. A dish like that was prepared only once a month due to the shortage of income. He told me that the majority of the meals were fish because of how cheap it was. A lot of my knowledge of cooking has come from my grandfather over time. During the interview, I started imagining the times when I was with him in the kitchen standing on a step stool, or sometimes a chair, trying to learn how to cook.

I proceeded to talk about my last topic, which was the evolution of the construction business. He started in the business when he was only twelve years old. His father bought a motor grader, a large machine used to level loose land, and he learned to operate it shortly after. “Well, it started with a mule, then a tractor, then the motor grader. Now there’s lots of different equipment they use.” He explained when asked how the equipment has changed over time. He started in construction as a laborer. He called that job a “ditch digger,” referring to the amount of time he would spend with a shovel in hand. After about thirty years of hard labor, he retired as vice president of Wellons Construction Company.

One can absorb a lot of information about the past easily by listening to someone who has lived it. This information is not only entertaining, but it is knowledgeable as well. From this interview, I started to value my life a lot more from realizing how much easier it is now than of the past. I hope this story has the same effect to others who read it.

Work Cited

Blackburn, Ashley Derrell. Personal interview. 1 Feb. 2011.

Note: Declan Freswick, who graduated from St. Pauls High School in Robeson County in 2010, is majoring in turfgrass management at Sandhills Community College.

Wisdom in Council

By Jennie Curtis

“The South--where roots, place, family, and tradition are the essence of identity.”
--Social historian Carl N. Degler

Farming has been an intricate part of southern culture over many generations. Take a drive through any small rural town here in the Sandhills and be treated to a wide variety of farm stands loaded with seasonal produce grown in and around this diverse area. A well-known and highly respected member of the farming community here is Mr. John Council, owner of Council Farms in Shannon, N.C. When I shook Mr. Council’s hand for the first time, his strong confident grip transported me into a different time and place. The dark brown skin of his hand was weathered with the many seasons; each line and callus told a story of how this life had shaped him throughout his now more than 70 years. As his hand embraced mine in a gesture of warm welcome and friendship, I was filled with a great interest and appreciation for the life he had chosen and the peace of mind that it awarded him.

Born into a family of sharecroppers in Robeson County, N.C. when segregation was alive and well, he was given his first mule to farm with at the age of five. Stop and think for a few minutes back to what you possibly might have been up to at the age of five…. I think I was learning how to tie my shoes and ride a bike with training wheels. Everyday he was responsible for that animal’s welfare and the equipment that he used to farm the fields with the skill of a grown man. Education consisted of little two-room school house miles down the road that he would attend on the rainy days. He lamented that most often he was so far behind it made learning the basics difficult and that the fields always took first priority. He did eventually learn to read and write but stated, “All of the education I have ever needed was given to me by the land.” Unaware of the hardship he was suffering at the time, he spoke fondly of his childhood memories spent with his family.

When he grew old enough to step out on his own, he moved to Camden, N.J., to see what the world outside of his small county held. He met and married his wife Willie Agnes, and through hard work he was able to purchase nine acres to farm. For the next thirty-five years they farmed their small plot while raising children in a time of great economic change. Mr. Council spoke of having to take many different outside jobs to feed his family from serving as a maintenance man for company such as Sears and J.C. Penny to fixing equipment for other farmers -- truly a man of all work. Every skill that he pulled from was self-taught while working the farm. As times progressed from the days of mule and plow to tractors and gasoline, he had to gain a new set of skills. Although he spoke of having no great love for any of these outside jobs, his joy for farming kept his love for life firmly rooted in the soil that he tended everyday.

In the early 1990s, he returned to North Carolina to aid his ailing father and purchased sixty-eight acres four miles outside of Raeford, N.C., in a tiny hamlet called Shannon. Devoting himself completely to the land, he and his now extended family have spent the last sixteen years building a working farm from the ground up. Priding himself on growing vegetables and raising animals as “only God would have me,” Council Farms is as natural as it gets. Although the farm is not certified organic, every leaf, fruit, egg and slab of bacon is nurtured in a completely organic environment. Following age-old methods passed down through generations, Mr. Council is passing along this hard earned and immeasurable wisdom to his children and grandchildren before he leaves this earth. In a time when carrying on the family business is becoming extinct because so many children show a lack of interest in the history that they were raised in and around, it is a relief to find a family so committed to carrying on the family name and the great expanse of knowledge that will be used and preserved for future generations to come.

Our little piece of Southern culture can be visited at the farmers market in downtown Southern Pines. When I visited Mr. Council on a fresh, bright Saturday morning, I was treated to a view of everything that his family can produce and love he has not only for the beautiful produce, meat and eggs that his farm provides this community but to an insight into the immense joy he feels in watching his grandchildren care for a way of life that he treasures. I and many others seemed drawn to the Council’s farm booth, not because it had the greatest display or the brightest banners with modern equipment, but rather the feeling that behind the modest and well-maintained setup was a type of quality we rarely find in any supermarket, small or otherwise these day. Mr. Council was quick to say that he has no regrets for choosing this way of life; the deep roots that connect him to the land he farms are all he will ever need to be happy. As I shook his hand in a friendly farewell, I felt somehow there can be no greater wisdom to part with than that.

Work Cited

Council, John. Personal interview. 29 May 2010.

Note: Jennie Curtis prepared this paper for HUM 122 as a student in the baking and pastry arts curriculum at Sandhills Community College. She is the pastry chief at Ashten’s Restaurant in Southern Pines, NC.