I wish I had recorded all of my dad’s stories about growing up in the depression/WW2 era. The whole family picked cotton during some points.
My dad used to put big slices of onion between a couple pieces of bread. He’d eat the whole thing.
My grandfather survived the depression and WWII as a farmer. His credo was “chickens, chickens, chickens”. As long as you have chickens you will eat and survive. Chickens were easy to cultivate, just toss them some hard corn and they will be there for Sunday dinner, was a standard saying for him.
Been there and done that and from a very early age. I have a photo of me picking cotton into a burlap sack my mother sewed a shoulder strap on when I was about 6. We didn't have running water and the outhouse was 75 feet from the house. My folks lost their small Calif farm in 29 or 30 and had to move into basically a abandoned home.
can we call you a cotton pickin freeper...:O)