I’m a Southern girl. All my life, I’ve studiously avoided cotton. I’ve heard many tales of woe from my grandmother that center on cotton…how hard it is to raise it and how hard it is to pick it. She told us how her fingers would quickly be ripped to shreds by the dry cotton husks, leaving blood stains all over her harvest. Many of my cousins lived in small towns where school shut down for a week so that kids could help their parents with the cotton harvest. (When you’re poor, your labor pool is the same as your gene pool.) And then there’s the cotton spray. I don’t know what the stuff is, but man! They spray cotton with something or other that is so vile, you just know it’s got to cause cancer. It permeates the air for miles around. You can’t get away from it. So, yeah…I’ve avoided cotton.
So, I’d never seen this:
I didn’t know that the lovely cotton blossom undergoes a change as it opens, fading midway through the process to this:
As the blossom nears the completion of its cycle, it turns more creamy.
I had never gotten close enough to a cotton field to see this beauty. Had I not stopped to photograph the sunflowers this week, I would probably NEVER have experienced it. I’m so glad I did.