George Singleton tells of the bygone days of picking cotton by hand

George Buster Singleton

(For decades, local historian and paranormal investigator George “Buster” Singleton published a weekly newspaper column called “Somewhere in Time.” The column below, which was titled “Remembering the hard work and fun from the cotton fields,” was originally published in the Sept. 24, 1998 edition of The Monroe Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)

As the autumn season slowly makes its way across the land, memories of many wonderful times fill my mind. Thinking back to my experiences as a young boy, in the country, I almost feel sorry for our youth of today because of the many good times they have missed.

A few days back, the ninth of September, my wife and I made our way down through the southern part of our county. As we passed cotton fields, becoming snow white with the open cotton glowing in the cool afternoon air, it was almost like going back in time. The long rows of cotton brought back memories of gathering the fluffy cotton by hand while dragging a long cotton sack.

Our youth of today know absolutely nothing about a long hot day in the cotton fields. They could not describe a day of bending over and picking cotton from dawn to dusk. Looking back, I remember how I used to hate that long cotton sack and that 12-hour work day. But, as I traveled the opened cotton fields near Uriah, I almost wished I had the chance to pick more cotton the old fashioned way. Remember, I said I almost wished.

As we rode along down Highway 59, I asked my wife if she had anything I could cover my head with. I told her I had a severe pain in my back. Believing that I was having back pains, she couldn’t understand why I needed to cover my head. I told her that seeing all that cotton, and the memories of having to pick the white stuff caused the pains in my back. Needless to say, she didn’t think that very funny.

If I had to select the one of the fondest memories, one would be when the cotton pickers stopped for lunch. Lunch was sent from the house in several large pans. Near the field we called the “Lewis” field, was a large creek. Under the shade of several oak trees on the high bank of the creek was where dinner would be served. After the blessing by Uncle Tony, an old black man my family cared for, the fun time got under way. Words can hardly describe the excitement experienced by a small country boy there under the large oaks. Tall tales, told by the older workers were almost breathtaking.

When the work day was done, this tired, small boy would lay awake and re-live the stories he had heard.

Almost every farmer had a “cotton house.” This was where freshly picked cotton was stored until enough had been picked to carry to the cotton gin. My fondest memory is being allowed by my darling mother to spend Friday and Saturday nights, sleeping on the fluffy cotton in the cotton house. I don’t believe a bed exists that is as comfortable as that large fluffy pile of cotton was to this small country boy. My bed partner was always a very large cur dog we owned named “Jack.”

Jack would curl up against my back and sleep the entire night, unless something moved or made a noise of some kind.

Jack was good natured, but everyone knew that when he growled, Jack meant business. Always after I had gone to sleep, my guardian angel Uncle Tony would come to the cotton house and lay down nearby. If the air was chilly, he would cover me with an old quilt or put cotton over me to keep me warm.

But cotton picking was not the only thing going on at this time of year. This was also the time for cooking lye hominy.

Fresh shelled corn would be placed in a large wash pot and cooked over an open fire for several hours. The good times was getting to be around the cooking fire as the hominy was cooking. There was always the chance to get a tea cake or large piece of peanut candy from my dear friend, Aunt Lellia.

This wonderful old black lady had no family, so she depended on my family. Since Aunt Lellia had delivered me when I was born, I was very special to this dear and wonderful lady. She always saw to it that I got special pieces of candy or any samples of pie or cake that might need to be tasted.

Aunt Lellia was the absolute authority in the community on cooking lye hominy. She was always sought out by various families when there was hominy to be cooked. No one dared question this dear lady about her cooking knowledge. But everyone knew that when she said it was ready, the hominy was ready.

A hominy supper would most times be held on Friday or Saturday night. Several families would get together for a wonderful time of fellowship and hominy. Other food, such as cakes and pies, would be brought along. Those who have never attended a lye hominy supper in a country community have missed a great event. The fun and games and the fellowship was something to be remembered.

If you have never tried to eat two or three half-ripe persimmons, then tried to whistle, you wouldn’t have been a good contestant in the around-the-fire games. Always someone would show up with a small paper sack full of half-ripe persimmons. After the meal, it was time for the persimmon and whistle contest. Take it from me, it’s not an easy thing to do. Nevertheless, the fun and good times was worth the drawn-up mouth.

These good times that some of us experienced as children played a very important part in the molding of our lives. I will be the first to admit that times have changed since those days of the middle 1930s. But as I see the careless, don’t care attitude of some of our youth, we might need to go back to the long cotton rows and the heavy cotton sacks. As for now, we can only hope. Only time will tell what awaits on the horizon.

(Singleton, the author of the 1991 book “Of Foxfire and Phantom Soldiers,” passed away at the age of 79 on July 19, 2007. A longtime resident of Monroeville, he was born to Vincent William Singleton and Frances Cornelia Faile Singleton, during a late-night thunderstorm, on Dec. 14, 1927 in Marengo County, graduated from Sweet Water High School in 1946, served as a U.S. Marine paratrooper in the Korean War, worked as a riverboat deckhand, lived for a time among Apache Indians, was bitten at least twice by venomous snakes, moved to Monroe County on June 28, 1964 and served as the administrator of the Monroeville National Guard unit from June 28, 1964 to Dec. 14, 1987. He was promoted from the enlisted ranks to warrant officer in May 1972. For years, Singleton’s columns, titled “Monroe County history – Did you know?” and “Somewhere in Time” appeared in The Monroe Journal, and he wrote a lengthy series of articles about Monroe County that appeared in Alabama Life magazine. It’s believed that his first column appeared in the March 25, 1971 edition of The Monroe Journal. He also helped organize the Monroe County Museum and Historical Society and was also a past president of that organization. He is buried in Pineville Cemetery in Monroeville. The column above and all of Singleton’s other columns are available to the public through the microfilm records at the Monroe County Public Library in Monroeville. Singleton’s columns are presented here each week for research and scholarship purposes and as part of an effort to keep his work and memory alive.)