I can remember selling a bushel of beans, peas, etc for $5. I even picked cotton one summer and that was enough. I was glad my uncle said that one year was more than enough experience. There is a lot of cotton in a bale. I treasure my memories of growing up on a farm. All of my older relatives are gone except for two aunts. Even my cousins are gone. It is hard being the older generation. I have a cousin who is about 85 and my brother is 80. No one had money when all of us were growing up but we had things money could not buy-—love, support, memories, I always wondered about my mom talking about her childhood memories. Now, at 70, I understand. They are our good ole days and doggone it, I miss them!
I miss them, too, MamaB.
I was thinking about my grandpa yesterday, about how hard he worked to farm that side of a mountain farm in North Carolina. When I got older, I helped skid timber out of those mountains to take it to sell. A team of horses and chains and a walk down the hill after cutting those things down with a two man saw. It was hot hard work. And it didn’t really pay that much.
He’s buried on that mountain in a set-aside that the families living in that vicinity established as a cemetery. And he does have a modest stone. Precious memories how they linger.
Same here. I was born in 1948 and it's a different world today.