Plantation Tales

Disclaimer: While my grandfather did spend time working in the cotton fields, he did not tell me this story. It is a work of pure imagination on my part. I would not want flutterby fancy to be confused with true African American folk lore.

When I was a child I often visited my Grandparents in Little Rock Arkansas. Some of my fondest memories are of the times spent perched on Grandpas' lap in front of the fireplace, listening to him spin a tall tale. He would puff on his pipe and with his thick Dutch accent begin to thrill me with stories of wonder. One day he spoke of Grandma Moses and how she gave comfort to the overworked slaves of the cotton plantations. To this day I can't look at a fluffy cloud or a scarlet sunset without thinking of her.

The legend speaks of the cotton plantations and the colored slaves who were forced to pick the crop which was the white gold of the South. Backs bent under the blazing sun, slaves would work from sun up till sun down pulling the fluffy cotton bolls from the plants. They sweated and toiled without complaint lest they fall into the disfavor of the plantation owner. By mid day they often found comfort in uniting in song giving a kind of rhythmic cadence to their labor. While singing, many swear that an old black woman would appear among the workers and begin to pull the bolls. No one knew her age, or where she came from. None ever saw her leave the fields at the end of the day, but they always saw evidence of her having been there. They simply called her Granny Moses.

As the day wore on and the sun grew hotter, many slaves slowed or even faltered in their work, but not Granny. The more she worked and sang, the faster she picked. As legend has it, her cotton bolls did not go into the heavy sack she wore slung over her bent shoulders. Instead she threw the cotton high up into the air where it began to form puffy white clouds to shade the weary workers toiling beside her. The heat of the day was eased by her magical creation of these clouds. She kept the fields shaded until the hot sun began to set in the eastern sky.

Those who have picked cotton know that the oily bolls keep the pickers hands constantly soft and unable to create callouses which might protect them from the piercing bract which cups the precious boll on the plant. By the end of each day hands often became raw and bloody. Grandma Moses was not immune to this problem, and as she picked and threw the cotton into the air, her hands often began to bleed into the bolls. By days end the eastern horizon blazed with scarlet born from the sacred blood of her hands. As the sun set, she would disappear as swiftly as she had appeared. No one ever saw her leave, but every time they saw a scarlet sunset, they knew that Granny had been there working among them, shading them from the brutal sun.