Stealin' Cotton in Mississippi and...Iron Maiden

I grew up in South Mississippi, and most of the cotton was always grown in and around the Delta region.  On a recent driving trip, from Toronto, Canada, down to visit my family in Pearl River County, Mississippi, I was driving from the McNeil area to my Dad's place, in the backwoods of Mississippi, known as Steephollow. Yup, that's right.  I grew up in a 'hollow', just like Loretta Lynn!  

While I was drivin' along Highway 53, in the Mississippi Queen Mobile, I looked out into this field, and saw this massive, white, rectangular, solid 'thing' that was about the size of a land/sea container.  It took me a while, but I soon realized it was a huge bail of cotton!  I, personally, had never seen cotton being grown that far South, so I slammed on the brakes...or wait, I 'mashed' the brakes, becuase I was in Mississippi, when I did this..I pulled my car over to the edge of the ditch..and then I decided I should get out of my car for a closer look, or at least that is what I told myself I was gonna do!

I had my three-year old with me, Zella Mae, and she was strapped into her carseat in the back.  She started yellin' out to me. 'Mommy, where are you going?  What are you doing?'  I'm like, 'Don't ya' worry honey. Mamma's just doin' a bit of role modelin', as I started up the other side of the ditch- the one that brought me to the edge of that cotton field.

I stood there, looking out across that field, thinking about how stereotypical that moment was. Here I am, standing in the state of Mississippi, as the self-appointed Mississippi Queen, driving the Mississippi Queen Mobile, with the words 'Mississippi Queen' tattooed down my arm, all while standing in a cotton field...thinking, 'now what would the Mississippi Queen do, at this moment?'....

Well, she walks up to one of the gnarly stalks, hovering around five feet tall, and she yanks it, roots and all, straight outta the ground!  I can hear Little Miss Zella Mae, all the way from the car, 'Mommy, what is that?' Boy, do I have some 'splainin' to do'!

I start walkin' really quickly then, as I see cars begin to pass my parked, and very obvious car, along the side of the road. The entire time, I am tryin' to shake the Mississippi mud and dirt off that stalk of cotton, and as I approach my Honda Element (yeppers...a city girl, aren't I?), it finally sinks in- how the hell am I gettin' this thing in my car?  

My car is loaded down already.  I have a small person in the back.  I won't even talk about the luggage I was packin' for this trip!  But, I make it happen..in it goes...whether it likes it, or not, and I start to believe that cotton has a life of its own.  

I actually make it to my mother's place; unload, very proudly, my newly acquired cotton stalk; and then have to recount the story of 'how it got into my car'.  When I am finished, my mother's boyfriend tells me, 'cops are on the phone for ya', so I can tell, already, the fam is proud, too.

The next day, I am pulling out to go see a couple of friends in Algiers Point, Louisiana, which means I am forced to depart with my newly beloved stalk of cotton.  I figure it is safe, since I plan to leave it on the front porch of my mom's brand new mobile home (and yes, in case you are wondering, the wheels are off), but little did I know, her Blue Heeler (that's a dog) would use my cotton stalk as a chew toy, in my absence!  I came back home from Nawlins to find balls of cotton all over her front deck!  I know what you are thinking....stereoptype, right? Cotton...front deck of the trailer...It just won't stop!

I decide then, I have to prop it up against the Mississippi Queen Mobile, and let it get all dried out in the sun. This way, I can possibly move it into my car, and it will be safe from any more varmit attacks in the backwoods of Mississippi.  It then dawns on me, 'how the hell am I crossing the border with this thing??' Never thought about that one!

After a couple of days, and just prior to pulling out of Mississippi, headin' back to Toronto, the stalk is nice and dry, so I decide it is time to find a new home for it, in the car, which so happens to be in the very back of the car, in between two massive suitcases, I just had to bring along.  Cotton was sticking out everywhere, and I then decided to load in some other miscellaneous bags, on top of those stacks, to conceal my prized possession.

Days go by, until I finally make my way to the Canadian/U.S. border, holding my breath, praying to the Gods, 'oh, please don't ask me about the farm'.  You know, when they want to know if you have visited a farm in the last few days.  Don't ask, don't tell, right?  'Any booze to declare?' 'No'.  'Go ahead'.  Whewww...no farms!

Then, I make my way all the way back to my lovely little apartment in Toronto, which is basically a bit of a shrine of Southern culture.  I am over-the-top excited to add the cotton to my collection..not of stolen goods...but of other collectibles, gracing my shelves, walls, and floors. Seriously, ever inch of space, is filled with stuff from the South.  The dried up stalk of cotton, beside my 'trash picked' old, rustic chair, to the right of my voodoo alter, is going to be just perfect!  

It's now the moment of truth.  The moment I have been waiting for, for almost two weeks now.  I move things around a bit, find the perfect spot for it all, and then it sets in....the guilt!!!!  Yup, the guilt.  I cannot really, truly enjoy it, because I STOLE it.  Serves me right!  

That poor, Mississippi farmer.  Look what I did to him, and his family! Stealin' from him was like stealin' from the mouths of babes!  I could see him now...crotchety, old farmer, needin' some help, as he tried to get himself off the tractor, or combine, after a long, hard, sweaty day, working a field of cotton (Insert song lyrics.... 'You picked a fine time to leave me Lucille.  Four hungry children and a crop in the field'....).

Look what I've done!  I claim to be such a 'stand up proud' Mississippian, and I'm not even self- respectin', and stealin' from our poor cotton farmers at that!  Of all the things I had done, this was most certainly gonna be the 'rot in hell' everyone had warned me about over the years.  Plus, lest we forget the role modelin' I did with wee Little Zella Mae. I am raisin' a future cotton stealer, too!

There is only one thing I can do- confess!  What would anyone do in my situation?  Naturally, I signed onto Facebook immediately, to rectify what had happened.  I will broadcast my amends to the world, or at least my 200 or so, so called 'friends'.  I make a post, apologizing, about what I had done...and I wait.  Not even fifteen minutes later, the friends are there to aid in my suffering.  One old high school friend signs on to tell me, not to worry, because she stole not one, but two stalks herself, from the very same field.

I knew this would help.  I was feeling better already...until my brother signed on.  Now, my brother is a bit of a character, to say the least. He took it upon himself, after reading my Facebook post, to go and chat with the 'poor farmer' himself!  I am already frettin'.  The part of the song lyrics, 'four hungry children' seems to be gettin' louder and louder by the minute....

Here's what he posted....

'Heah, Connie Jean (that's because Down South we all got two names), you know who you stoled that cotton from? That's Jimbo's (name changed to protect the identity of the poor farmer) cotton field. He said to tell you 'hello', and where ya' been?  He said he ain't seen ya' in over twenty years! He said the last time he saw ya', was when all ya'lls went to see Iron Maiden back in 1984'!

NO WAY!!!  There goes the screech of the record as someone lifts the needle off, mid lyrics...'four hungry children and a crop in the field'...and it is replaced, immediately with this vision of a big, 'long hair' swingin', bass playin' Dude, screamin' out the lyrics of Iron Maiden, standin' in his field, the entire time, those cotton stalks bowing to the amplified sounds coming through those speakers.

WOW, I don't even remember seeing Iron Maiden, and for all of those Iron Maiden fans reading this, it certainly gives new meaning to....Running for the Hills, or fields, in this case!

Thanks for lettin' me talk at ya'.
Connie Rouble,
a.k.a. the Mississippi Queen