Country Writings

Monday, February 20, 2006


Growing up in Yell county,Ar. during the depression could have been a sad time. My Mom and Dad had to work so hard on a farm and later my Dad was a grocery peddler, driving a grocery truck,over country roads, many miles per day. But you see, I did not suffer from being poor becaause love is the greatest gift parents can give their children and I had plenty of that. Sure, I picked and hoed cotton--I gathered corn, pulled peanuts, and the worst chore for me, was picking up potatoes after Daddy plowed them up. But in these fields, working beside me was my mother, brother, cousins and friends. As we chopped and picked cotton we talked and laughed and had fun working together. In picking the cotton there would be some green boles not open yet. One day, a man was driving a log truck up the lane right by our cotton patch. A young man pulled one of those green cotton boles and threw it through the truck window, hitting the man right on his Adam's apple. That truck came to a screeching halt and that truck driver came into the cotton patch, angerily demanding to know who threw that cotton bole, cutting off his breath!Of course none of us had any idea who had done such a thing!!


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