Lesson 23:No More Cotton Blues

We baited our hooks with them, then threw our lines into
the water and waited. With luck, we’d bring home a mess of
catfish for Sunday dinner. My father caught the first one, and
that put him in a good mood.
“I know your mother’s been talking to you about moving.”
I nodded. He went on. “I’ve thought about it, but I don’t think
it’s the right thing. This is our home. Our family’s been occupying
this land for over 100 years. Cotton is in our blood. That’s
the truth, and nothing will ever change that.”
“What about Uncle Eugene” I said, only daring to challenge
him because he seemed in such a good mood. “He left the
fields and made a life for himself in the city. Maybe we could do
the same. I heard on the radio that President Roosevelt wants
to help poor folks. He could find you a job, and we wouldn’t
have to pick cotton any more.”
My father stuck another worm on his hook. “Cotton, corn,
tobacco — they’re all dropping in price. But that won’t last
forever. The government will set things right, you’ll see, and
when prices shoot back up, sharecroppers like me will come out
ahead. I figure the best thing we can do is stay put and not be
running off with our tails between our legs.” My father plunked
his line in the water and sat back against the Catalpa tree.
I knew there was nothing more I could say to change his mind.
We got our cotton in by the end of the following week.
It was a good harvest, and my father was more hopeful than I’d
seen him in a long time. He was sure this year’s settle would net
him a pile of money.
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