Fresh Tracks

Two days after a final summer rain wiped the slate clean, the still moist Earth tells the tales of yesterday's adventures. A deer strolled through the edge of the cotton field in search, perhaps, of a soybean meal from the field next door. Coyotes snuck through a freshly disced watermelon field, in all likelihood, stalking dinner. A crane danced through the puddles near the edge of Buffalo ditch, and a bevy of birds gathered at a makeshift watering hole for refreshment.

Like a butterfly emerging from the darkness of a cocoon, beauty is always revealed after the rain, if not in the skies above, then on the Earth beneath.

White Diamonds

As Summer fades in the South, Harvest season approaches on slightly cooler winds of change. The once emerald green leaves of the cotton have lost their luster, turning rusty shades of orange and red. Dark chocolate spots cover the teardrop shaped bolls that remain unopened. And white diamonds have begun to sparkle on the very bottom branches of the plants. Fluffy newborn tufts of cotton rest on spiky husks of dried-up greenery turned brown by the labor of birthing such perfect beauty.

The beautiful bounty of Harvest is only just beginning. Soon the flawless snow of pure white gold will gently Fall, and pearly scenes of Harvest will stretch as far as the eye can see.

Freedom

Late in the summer, when the cotton is maturing, and the harvest has not yet arrived, the farm family enjoys a little bit of freedom...a certain brand of fun found only on the farm. Flying along the dusty ground beneath cotton candy clouds born of late afternoon humidity. Listening to the pop-pop of ATV motors as they roar over the narrow dirt roads that run through the fields near home. Watching the scenery change from cotton to corn, then milo and melons. Hearing the joyous squeals of happy childhood memories being formed in the hearts and minds of young farmer boys.

Enjoying even the coarse breeze that carries with it a thin layer of dirt and the pungently sweet smell of melons that have sat a little too long in the heat of day.

Summer Sweetness

Certain treats can only be properly enjoyed during the long hot days of summer in the South. Like the crisp crunch of a melon picked straight from a field belonging to the farmer's friend. Slightly cooled where it's hidden beneath the endless greenery of a myriad of vines tumbling over one another. Sliced with a pocket knife and broken open on the dirt with a soft thud. No utensils needed.....only fingers. Oh so sticky and surprisingly satisfying in the heat of the day. Summer sweetness at its finest.

The unforgettable freshness of fruit plucked from the vine by eager young fingers is the just one of the plethora of perfect pleasures found in the country life.

Blooms and Bolls

In the hazy heat of a Southern Summer morning the cotton fields around the farmer's house take on the appearance of a watercolor painting. Endless, perfect landscapes of green stippled with blooms of white and red and every shade of pink between the two. A closer inspection, however, reveals something that, to the farmer, is even more beautiful than the blooms. Hidden among the leaves and stalks, are full and perfect bolls of green stippled with brown. The result of blooms past. The hope of future harvest.

Blooms and bolls appear together for time, but soon the blooms will fade away with the cotton's leaves and the last of summer's heat and the bolls will emerge as the true beauty of the cotton plant for every passing eye to behold....fields white for harvest.

 

Chopping Cotton

The war on weeds continues in the late afternoon hours of a mid-summer day with a ground strike. The present battle is waged with the seemingly lost art of chopping cotton. Healthy green leaves rustle as the farm family moves slowly, steadily, with freshly sharpened hoes in hand, through each and every row, carefully searching for any life stealing life from the precious green bolls that now dot the bottom branches of the cotton. The near silence of hard labor is broken occasionally by the soft thud of metal meeting earth....the faint sound of the farm guillotine chopping off the heads of weeds condemned to death.

The monotony of the task at hand is happily broken at the end of each round with the rewards of an ice-cold drink and a momentary break used by the young country boys to catch critters and by the older folk to share dreams of future plans that don't involve such hard work.

Longing to Embrace

In the humid heat of a Southern summer that wilts most every living creature, the cotton in the farmer's fields thrives...and begins to stretch. Reaching across wet dirt that just a few weeks ago appeared as a great chasm separating each row from the next. The plants seem to grasp with desire at the neighboring greenery. Like young lovers, longing to embrace across the dusty middles and join in the magical mystery of the birds and the bees. Holding hands in the light of day and dancing with abandon through the moonlit nights. Becoming one....together.

Rows of cotton, that once seemed as separate as the night is from the day, begin to intermingle and intertwine...Changing from a thousand rows to one single field....