I have some photos of cotton fields near here. They show the cotton just before picking. My Grandfather wrote a song about when the harvest is white and I knew exactly what he was thinking.
On the other hand my Grandmother who was born in the 1800s near here had never seen cotton until her Father took her on a trip to Geneva, Alabama on an oxcart. It was still green and she thought it was okra.
Great heritage. I hope to retire in the panhandle.