Fields of defoliated cotton always call out to me, but before taking this photo, I had never stopped to get a closer look. There’s something appealing about the fluffy, white bolls — contrasting starkly against the brown, dead stems. That contrast is what drove me to convert this to a black and white photo (good black and white photos have both black and white in them…not just shades of gray). If memory serves me correctly, this particular cotton field was just outside of Abilene.
The following picture is of the same field, taken at the same time. The stories that old house could tell!
I figured that this would be as good a place as any to go ahead and share the following photo, as well. I was with my parents (driving somewhere I don’t remember), and we drove past a cotton field in bloom. It dawned on me that I had never seen a cotton blossom up close, so Dad pulled over for me to get a closer look. The flowers looked pretty…in a strange sort of way. I never would have guessed that they were pink.
Oh, the things we miss when we’re zooming by in our cars.
“That was where my dream began to take hold, of not havin’ to pick cotton and
potatoes, and not havin’ to be uncomfortable, too hot or too cold.That
in itself had driven me to try to find some better way of life.” -Buck Owens