The First Time I Saw A Cotton Field
What Awakened My Passion For History
I grew up in Minnesota, which, except for Alaska and parts of Maine, is almost as far north as you can get in America. Technically, portions of Washington, Idaho, Montana, and North Dakota are pieces a little more North, but the point is, I never saw cotton growing up, and it was too damn cold to grow where I lived.
My family took a trip when I was about 5 to LaGrange, GA, where I had relatives. We flew to Atlanta, took a Greyhound bus to LaGrange, mostly on Interstate 85, and got picked up and driven to the farm where my Aunt and Uncle lived. I saw plenty of red clay, cows, and pigs but no cotton.
This was a time when Black History Month was still just a week. We learned about Toussant L’Overture and the Haitian Revolution (we never studied any of the revolts in America). We were taught about George Washington Carver and all he could do with a peanut and Booker T. Washington. I was aware of enslaved people picking cotton, but it wasn’t through formal education.
After graduating high school, I attended Fisk University, an HBCU in Nashville, TN. Nashville was too cold for cotton; admittedly, cotton wasn’t on my mind. I made the varsity basketball team which meant I’d be traveling throughout the south (though we did go to a tournament in Chicago)…
