Sixteen
____________
Cotton
Pickers
It was on the move
again, this time to Eakly to the Fowlers’ place. It was a cute place but a bit
of a distance from town, at least for us youngins to walk there, anyway. We
rode the school bus to school.
We grew quite a bit of cotton. We began the
season at this place by plowin' the soil and planting our crop around the end
of April. When the sprouts came up we thinned out the rows so we'd have a good
crop. Later we went back a time or two for weedin'.
School started at the end of August and then let
out for two weeks at the end of September to pick cotton. We all went out into
the fields to harvest the cotton; Pa and Ma with their large canvas bags
hangin’ from their shoulders. They did what was called ‘snapping’, while we
children ‘picked’ the leftovers and put ‘em in small bags. Snappin’ cotton was
the most common way to harvest the crop in the 1930s. The harvest time these
days was delayed a bit so that farmers could snap the whole boll off rather
than pickin' the seed cotton from the burrs.
I loved pickin’. I remember many times riding
with loads of cotton to Eakly to the coal powered cotton gin. We youngins would
watch in amazement as the cotton was sucked up and separated from the seeds and
hulls and then packed into five-hundred pound bales. One day while picking
cotton, Mary lost her toy frog that Ma had made from a flour sack. We spent
hours looking for it and finally found it just before it got dark.
The acreage restrictions implemented in 1933 by
the Agricultural Adjustment Act only added to the problems the drought has
caused us. The smaller farms like ours, tenant farmers and sharecropping
families, suffered the most. Even when the government came up with a new Act it
didn't end the drought. My folks managed fair enough during this time, but
everyone found it necessary to tighten their belts during the ‘30s, but one can
only tighten that belt so far.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
John Charlton snapped another boll of cotton
into his full hand and placed the load quickly into his almost overflowing sack
that hung heavily from his shoulder. The family usually picked two rows at a
time enabling them to harvest almost a ton of crop by early afternoon. Richard,
Rae Ann, Teddy and Mary followed closely behind to pick what remained of the
cotton to place in their sacks. Hilda Charlton was taking her full sack to be
emptied.
Mr. Charlton spoke to his children rather
matter-of-factly, “You all know that the Choctaw Indian tribe was the first to
start cultivatin’ cotton in Oklahoma back around 1825.”
Rae Ann answered quickly, “Yeah, Pa. Oklahoma’s
been growin’ a lot of cotton since then.”
Fearing his daughter may deliver a long and
detailed history of cotton production statistics at any moment, Mr. Charlton
replied, “A lot of it, I recon. Anyway,” he raced ahead to the next pair of
plants and begun snapping bolls, “you youngins get a move on, now. We don’t
want to be here all night.”
“Ouch!” Teddy screeched again.
“Told you to wear your leather gloves, Teddy,”
Rae Ann scolded her brother. “Them gloves you got ain’t good enough.”
“I know,” Teddy moaned.
"You got to wear good gloves, Teddy, thick
leather ones, so them dry stickery bristles don't be cuttin' your arms and
fingers all up. I got me some scars here on my wrists from wearin' gloves that
weren't no good once. Why don't you run back to the house and get your good
gloves?" Richard asked curiously.
“Pa might get mad.”
“He won’t. He’ll be a lot madder if you get hurt
and cut up and miss a day of pickin’. Here,” Richard handed the strap to his
sack to his brother, “go empty both our sacks and get your gloves… run. I’ll
help Rae Ann and Mary. When you get back you’ll need to empty our sacks too,
ok?”
“Ok, deal.” Teddy ran off carrying two sack
loads of cotton.
Rae Ann commented, “That was quick thinkin’,
Richard.”
“Just normal common sense. One has to think
fast, analyze things quickly, and make a final decision. It don’t take no long
time to do that, just a second or two.”
“Can you carry my sack, Richard, please?” Mary
questioned.
“Sure,” Richard replied, “hand it over.”
During the harvesting season the whole Charlton
family would rise early to feed and care for their minimal amount of livestock
then arrive out on the cotton field by 5:30 am every morning. They worked until
4:30 pm most days, but Mr. Charlton and his two sons would often stay until
dark. This was a seven day a week job during the harvesting season. This farm
was no different than any other farm the family had grown cotton on, the
workload remained consistent.
Teddy ran up to Richard with his leather gloves
on and traded the two empty sacks for the two full sacks Richard and Rae Ann
had filled, then ran quickly to empty them.
“That was fast,” Rae Ann commented. “Almost as
fast as you, Richard.”
Richard proudly proclaimed, “Ain’t no one as
fast as me.”
“Less talk, more work,” their father announced.
“You can talk tonight—”
Richard interrupted, “We know… tonight in our
sleep.”
“Ok, Pa,” Rae Ann replied, “we’re a hurryin’.”
The rest of the day and afternoon raced by. Rae
Ann and Teddy rode with the wagon to deliver one of the loads of cotton to the
cotton gin while Richard kept working with his father. Mrs. Charlton and Mary
returned to the house around 4:00 pm to start supper preparations. The evening
meals during harvest time were generally simple and consisted of spuds, greens
and some type of meat.
The next morning brought with it a hot sunny day
and an interesting surprise.
“Well, I’ll be,” John Charlton said as a
familiar looking man crossed his cotton field.
Richard turned to look where his father was
gazing and saw the Indian man they had helped so many months earlier. “Pa!”
Rae Ann was not sure who the man was. Teddy saw
her confusion and explained things to her.
The man approached John Charlton and spoke, “I
am here to help… no charge.”
Surprised, John replied, “We must pay you.”
“You have,” the man claimed. “Sons and you, you
saved my life. You moved from the other farm but I found you. I asked the
sheriff.”
Mr. Charlton realized this was a matter of
serious honor for the man who had gone to so much trouble to locate him and his
family, so he bartered, “Three day’s work, then.”
“Yes, three is good,” the Indian agreed.
“My name is John… John Charlton.”
“I am called William Blue Eagle.”
It turned out that the middle-aged Indian had
suffered some type of memory loss a few days before he ended up in the
Charlton’s cotton field during winter. He had wondered aimlessly for many
nights and days to find his way home, but could not. The doctor did not know
what had caused the man’s memory loss after examining him the day the
Charlton’s brought him to town. He gave the man some medicine and the sheriff
returned him to his home. The man had not experienced any additional trouble
since that time.
“You’re welcome to work with us as long as you
eat with us and we’ll fix you up a place so as you can sleep here at the farm
too.”
The man spoke English fairly well, being taught
by missionary folk during his youth. He stayed with the family for the rest of
that week. Mr. Charlton kept him on for an additional week and paid him well
for his efforts. The Charlton children enjoyed the tales the man told them in
the evenings. Tales of his people, his life, and the stories his father and
grandfather had related to him from his youth. It was an exhilarating time for
the entire family and one they would never forget.
The late fall of 1938 through the early spring of 1939 were busy
times for the Charltons. They attended a few socials at church, helped raise
money for struggling farming families, and tilled and sickled the cotton fields
in preparation for the next growing season.
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