Sunday, October 6, 2013

The Touch, The Feel

It used to be that once you crossed the bridge to the mainland you were treated to visions of vast fields of cotton dotting the roadsides. If you traveled at just the right time in the fall, the cotton balls would be perched like still white doves on maroon stalks just waiting to be plucked. Grapevine tendrils now twine where the cotton fields used to grow; small vineyards claiming the land with a more profitable and trendy product. But further out on the mainland, cotton fields still spread along the highways and back roads.

Rising at 4:30 am yesterday morning, I made my last minute preparations for the day's show in Hertford, NC, a gorgeous little hamlet just past Elizabeth City. On the road by 6 o'clock, we were blinded by a heavy coastal fog, but as the sun pulled itself out of the east, the cotton that hadn't been harvested glowed through the leftover pockets of fog blanketing the fields. These photos are not the best and for that, I apologize, but it was the crack of dawn after all and I was in a moving vehicle having only had one cup of coffee. Many of you know I am NOT a morning person. These fields had already been "picked", not by human hands anymore but by gigantic roving beasts of steel. But you can still see the leftovers, those chunks of softness that saved themselves by growing near the edge of the field.

We crossed the bridge into Hertford, becoming part of a postcard image complete with a small boat and its passenger looking for his own "harvest" of a few fish for breakfast, lunch or dinner.

I will be spending this week washing my cotton sheets and sweeping Buddha hair from the corners in preparation for a much anticipated visit with my son and his wife and members of her family who are coming to The Crooked Little House for a three day vacation. They too will be driving by the cotton fields. So forgive me for taking next weekend off from blogging. I'll be back the following weekend.


"If there were no dust, housekeeping would be an art form."  John Thorne


4 comments:

  1. In 1974, my 1st husband and I rode a Greyhound bus to Myrtle Beach. At the sight of cotton fields for the 1st time, it was very emotional,tears streaming. Visions of people picking cotton crept in, I had finally seen real cotton! I purchased one of those touristy samples at the very next truck stop and kept it a very long time!

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    1. My dad was a professional golfer who toured a lot when I was young. My prized possession was a sample of cotton he brought home for me from Georgia. Whenever I see cotton fields, I think of him. Thanks for sharing Patricia.

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  2. I guess I never told you that little story.

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