100% Cotton

So we’re driving down the road in rural Mississippi and I am seeing this stuff looking like cotton balls littering the sides of the road. 

Then I realized, “Oh my gosh! That is cotton!” I remembered the fields in South Carolina looking like expanses of snowy fields. We were told by locals cotton harvest would soon begin.

These cotton fields in Mississippi had just been harvested. The fields were nothing but small nubs and dirt now. I know that today harvest is done by machine, but I could vividly imagine the slaves bent over for hours in those same fields. Their ghosts seem to still hover in a landscape which has changed little in the last 150 years. I imagined the songs they sung as their calloused and cut hands moved with dexterity around the prickly plants, removing the cotton. Some of the farms houses may have been built pre Civil War, by the looks of how weathered and worn they were.

The cotton we saw were the little bits that did not make it into the huge freight car sized piles neatly stacked and waiting to be picked up and delivered to world markets any day. We pulled over and the kids picked up the cotton. 

"Are these things inside the seeds, Mom?" Sally asked.

Although on some level I know cotton is a plant, I never give it much thought. Well over 90% of my wardrobe is cotton, but when was the last time I gave thought to the plant that gave birth to my favorite sweatshirt, t-shirt, or pajamas? We all know that removing nail polish with anything other than a cotton ball is a joke. 

Before this trip, none of us had ever actually seen cotton growing.  

In school I remember learning about Eli Whitney and his invention of the cotton gin. But until Sally asked me the question about the seeds and I looked back to see her futzing around with the cotton, I had never given Eli and his invention much thought.  Seeing Sally struggle to get to the seeds and remove them from the cotton seemed a harder task than completing a Rubic's cube. When I was a kid and again in high school, I learned about this part of history the way I learned my spelling words. Just rattled them off, unmoved emotionally. It suddenly hit me, Eli Whitney's invention was world transforming! A machine could do the laborious task of removing the seeds at speeds that could only be imagined. I had to go online and google "Eli Whitney and the cotton gin."

The Chinese proverb "Tell me and I forget, show me and I may remember, involve me and I understand" was illuminated by our little encounter with cotton.

I wondered why not one teacher had ever passed around freshly harvested cotton to the class and timed us in our attempts to get the seeds out of cotton. This simple hands on activity would have really drove the point home.  I am assuming it could not be that difficult to get a hold of some.  Or, taken one step further, I began to woder how hard would it be to grow cotton with the kiddos when we got home.

I found some information on www.cottonspinning.com

From the website:

Would you like to see the progress of this amazing plant in your own home? Plant seeds indoors in 3" peat pots. Keep in a warm, sunny place, turning the pot a little each day. Best to start your plants indoors about 4 weeks prior to putting them outside. Transplant directly into the ground or a large outdoor pot when all danger of frost is over. To transplant, tear off the bottom of the peat pot. Water the plant well for the first few days. Keep in a sunny spot and away from a lot of wind. Make sure the ground is warmed above 60 degrees and put in well tilled loose sandy loamed soil. "
I like to plant cotton into a large pot so I can move it indoors during the winter and put the plant out again next spring. It will last several years if it does not get frost bitten. 

Driving through the South, it was apparent just how much cotton is still such a vital part of the economy and culture of this "land of Dixie" My kids had no idea why I kept singing, "I wish I was in the land of cotton..." and I had to hum the rest because I never learned that song all the way.

Wyatt holding his cotton that he picked up on the side of edge of the field.

Sally in the car with her cotton.

Is my next t-shirt in there?

Cotton on the side of the road for miles.

Amish in Tennessee?

When you think of Tennessee, you may think music - Elvis Presley's Graceland, Nashville's Grand ol' Opry, the blues of Memphis, country, gospel, bluegrass. Dolly Parton.  - You may think Smokey Mountains.  But, if you are like me, you don't think of Amish people.


We were turning out of our parking lot of our motel, in Lawrencburg, TN, when all of the sudden a black carriage, pulled by a horse rode by in the middle of the road, just in front of us. It was like a Twilight Zone time warp moment.

Across the street we pulled into a strip mall parking lot. Two more horse and buggies were tied up to the green painted posts meant for just that purpose judging from piles of horse poo right there. A woman dressed in black, with a black scarf or hat and black simple wire framed dark glasses - sort of like John Lennon, sat in one of the carriages. She must have been waiting for the mister to buy something in the Tractor store. Although the Amish do not use tractors, they may have been buying some tools.

Five miles down the road, we found ourselves in a horse and buggy tour - led by Jerry, a non Amish farmer with a thick, slow Southern drawl. He lives adjacent to the Amish and from his country store on his farm, offers horse drawn buggy tours. But his buggy had thick rubber tires and cushioned benches in the back of the wagon.

Jerry was a wealth of information about the Amish lifestyle.



We passed a few of their one room school houses. There is no jungle gym, no library, school cafeteria, blacktop.  No computer lab, theater, or gymnasium. At one school we must have been passing at recess.  Kids were  running around on the grass. Looked like tag.  They were all dressed the same in black and dark blue. Girl's heads covered in scarves, boys wearing straw hats. We waved to them and they waved back smiling.

Amish school. The building that looks like a house is the school and the 2 little white structures are the bathrooms, one for girls and one for boys.

Jerry, our guide told us that the Amish children all learn Pennsylvania Dutch and German first. They start school at 6 years old and that is when they start learning English. The kids finish school at fourteen and then begin working full time farming, making furniture, sawing logs, raising livestock, weaving baskets, etc.

Amish house and farm. The parents, and grandparents, and at times great grandparents live adjacent to one another. Literally, their homes are in some cases connected. Amish people do not have their own money until they are 21. Anything they earn before that, goes to the parents. And they get money from their parents. Even if they are married.

They use no electricity, don't drive cars, they all wear the same type of clothes. They are a primarily self sustaining community who only pay taxes on the land or sales tax if they go into town (in their buggies) and buy something.  The Amish do not believe in taking pictures and do not own mirrors. They take what the bible says literally - (I googled it for those of you who are wondering when I was able to start quoting scripture)  “You shall not make for yourself a carved image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth.

It was yet another slice of the American Pie we were fortunate enough to be exposed to on the road.

We stopped and bought different homemade things from a few of the families. a loaf of white bread, a loaf of pumpkin bread, molasses cookies, chocolate covered nuts, rocky road type candy, a simple wood toy, a handwoven basket. 


I was debating on buying a large jar of homemade strawberry and a jar of raspberry jam. Which would be a welcome change from the jelly packets we have been using. I am cringing but I actually said what popped into my mind first,"But I don't have a refrigerator" (being on the road) does this need to be refrigerated?" The bearded Amish man, in his black trousers, suspenders, straw hat said, "We don't have refrigerators"
Then I stumbled over my words trying to recover from the lamest thing I've ever said by saying something about assuming they had ice and do they have to keep the jam cold on ice after they open it.

He said no. (dang it!)

I felt like a refrigerator apologist and did the only thing left I could think of since shutting up hadn't occurred to me. Blame my mom. "Growing up my mom was always saying, that things have to be refrigerated after you open them. They brainwash us into thinking everything has to be refrigerated."

(Was this really coming out of my mouth!!!!!)

I now have two jars of opened and unrefrigerated jam. PB&J for lunch today.

In the Fishbowl With the Dawg

Hello!

First of all, I want to express my deep gratitude to anyone who has served our country today. Happy Veteran's Day. We appreciate the small and large sacrifices you have made. Today is your day to take a bow as we applaud and salute you.

Today is also Friday - Mom's Voice day.
A while back I promised to tell you about our new favorite dog. Read all about it when you
click here to read this week's Mom's Voice column.

Parker Moore (AKA Hairy Dawg) and Payton enjoying some soul food at Weaver D's

The gang with Weaver D.

At the edge of the basketball court at UGA

Fall on the UGA campus

an example of the beautiful architecture on the UGA campus

We get outfitted at the UGA bookstore.  Here with Parker and roommate Dave

Across the street from the bookstore, Sanford Stadium - the calm before game day.

PARKER: "Excuse me ladies, my friend Payton here has never been to UGA before and was wondering if he could take a picture with you.   PAYTON: "Why thank you Parker"

GAME DAY!

Not Just Another Stroll in the Park

 This is Kelly Ingram Park in Birmingham, Alabama. Looks peaceful doesn't it? The statue is of Martin Luther King Jr. He is facing the 16th Street Baptist Church.

Below are photographs taken in and around Kelly Ingram Park in 1963. Civil Rights demonstrators were attacked with fire hoses with power so strong it was said afterward it took the bark off trees. Police dogs, trained to attack were used on peaceful protesters.

Today, although the park is peaceful and especially beautiful with the fall colors, statues pierce the quiet and calm shouting out reminders of what took place when men, women, and children simply tried to exercise their first amendment rights. 

 This sculpture depicting the fire hoses, gives you the chills.

 This was hanging inside the church basement at the 16th Street Baptist Church where all the Sunday school classes are held. I saw it, just feet from where the explosion took place in 1963.  Handwritten on a piece of construction paper taped to the window of a classroom.

Love, Loss, Learning

In 1963 Birmingham, Alabama, Denise McNair was 11 years old. Mirian Monago was only 8 and looked up to Denise.  Denise treated Mirian as a friend, not just a little kid.  Mirian’s smile widened as she remembered, “I was thrilled at having an older friend.  I really looked up to her.” 

On the morning of September 15, 1963, the friendship was cut short.

Four men, members of the Ku Klux Klan, planted a box of dynamite with time delay under the steps of the 16^th Street Baptist Church near the basement.  The church was filled with people, including 26 children.  The explosion happened at 10:22 a.m. killing 4 girls. One was Denise McNair. 

 

Yesterday we sat at breakfast in Birmingham, Alabama. (My friend Jean and her daughter Sara had flown into meet us.)  At breakfast we got to talking to a woman in her 50’s who worked at our hotel.  We learned she is a former teacher and enjoys her hobby as a jazz singer. We felt an instant connection with this beautiful, gentle voiced, intelligent woman.  We discussed books, and places to visit. We mentioned we would be visiting the Civil Rights Institute and the 16^th Street Baptist Church. That is when she told us her memory of being an 8 year old girl, happy to have an older, wiser friend to look up to  - 11 year old Denise McNair. 

Mirian welled up as she told us often when she has a jazz concert, she will silently think, “This is dedicated to you Denise” She wonders what Denise would have become had her life not been taken away at 11 years old.

This hit close to home as my 11 and 9 year old daughters listened intently. Sally, at 9 looks up to the older girls in her theater group. There are a few who treat her like a friend - not just a little kid. 

Mirian and my girls shared something deep. We all share it. The desire to have a true friend and the joy of having one.  May my girls never, ever have to experience, the unspeakable pain of one being murdered.  

No textbook, no lecture could have been a more effective tool in teaching my kids something about the Civil Rights Movement. No test could ever measure what they learned but I knew, when I saw them hug Mirian goodbye. I saw it when we stood in the 16^th Avenue Baptist Church.

This is the heart of the Great American Field Trip. 

Planning this cross country journey, I knew one of the most important parts would be visiting the Deep South and learning about the Civil Rights Movement.  

We had a blast in Savannah and in Athens, GA at the University of Georgia (read about that in my Mom’s Voice column Friday) but, as much as the south is known for its beauty, comfort food, and southern hospitality, it is also where some of our nation’s ugliest and shameful events took place. Where terrifying acts of hatred and injustice against black people was the norm for a sickening amount of time.  With hate group memberships soaring in this country, there is still work to be done. 

The wounds of the Civil Rights Movement run deeper than I ever thought possible. The dichotomy of strength and grace, the courageous acts of ordinary people amongst the backdrop of segregation is a difficult to comprehend. 

 I was happy to have to company of another adult during this part of our journey. The comfort of a Jean, a close friend, to share the tears and heaviness of what we saw and learned.  Someone to help me try to explain to my kids what I am unable to explain to myself.  

With Jean and Sara, we visited Atlanta, Montgomery and Birmingham.  I have so much to share about what we saw and will write more tomorrow.   I do fear my words will dilute what is in my heart. 

I will end with excerpts from Sally and Janey’s journal.  (I asked permission) Sally drew two thumbs on the page of her journal one was colored in with her ball point pen, one was not. Next to the thumbs she wrote “You tell me the difference that is a white thumb and a black thumb. That is how they judged respect.  There is no difference!” 

Janey wrote, “Today was a really intense day. First the day started out with us coming across a woman who worked at our hotel at breakfast. She knew one of the girls who died when the KKK bombed the church.  How heart-breaking. I have to write about it tomorrow because I’m still trying to get over it.”

Please click here to listen to Mirian Monago singing "Bye Bye Blackbird"    You can also listen to other songs she has recorded on Singsnap. 

16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, AL

Janey standing next to the spot of the explosion and the memorial stone with the names of the girls that were killed.

Mom's Voice Column - The Moments Between the Momentous

Click here to read this week's Mom's Voice column in the Newport Beach Independent.


ITINERARY UPDATE:
We are enjoying the South tremendously. Still in Georgia. Just spent the last couple of days with our favorite new dog - details coming soon....
My friend Jean and her daughter Sara are flying into Atlanta to meet us for a long weekend tonight. We will be saying farewell to Georgia and heading into Alabama on Sunday.

The journey West has officially begun.

Trick-or-Treat Y'all

A lot of people have asked where we spent Halloween. 

We were in Savannah, Georgia. It was like trick or treating on a movie set. Gorgeous Spanish Moss trees, big houses with shutters and columns. Friendly people. 

Sally ran to me from one house saying, "mom, that man just gave us candy and then said, 'Y'all have a good night, y'all be safe" 

 

Wyatt is a spy, Janey is Mrs. Beiber, and Sally is a magic bunny. Unfortunately Payton had to stay in the hotel because he pulled something and his neck was so stiff he couldn't move. But we didn't stay out too long, and came back and took Payton on a drive-thru southern Trick-or-Treat - We drove through Chick Fil-A and Krispy Kreme. All's well that ends well.

 

We didn't carve pumpkins. But a couple days before Halloween, we did stumble upon the best church carnival EVER. We found it when we heard gospel singers out of our car window...We immediately pulled over to investigate.  As if the gospel singers weren't enough - down home carnival games, a gospel rapper, dancers, (all members of the church) and free snow cones and hot dogs. 

I envy their soulful and powerful voices.   I wish I was up there singing with them.

Wyatt gets some pointers

Wyatt goes fishin'