15 days ago
I was riding with my retired pawpaw(grandpa) the other day, and he was taking me home after our trip to get pintos & black eyes with cornbread... he was on his way to go move his tractor & do some work. I asked, “Paw, do you have to work everyday?”... As long as I’ve been alive this man has been working and taking care of us. To which he replied, “I ain’t never been afraid of no work. When I was 7 years old I had to go out in that field and pick cotton. You don’t work, you get a whipping”.... I talk to my grandpa every day, but this was my first time ever hearing him talk about this part of his upbringing.
He went on to tell me how his family was sharecroppers, and they had their own home on the farm of a white family. He made sure to tell me they were not slaves, and that he had never knew anyone that was a ‘Slave’... •••••••• I’ve been thinking about this convo since it happened. Instinctually, I felt like damn, I truly can always be working harder... but then my thoughts went to questioning what “Hard work” is & what my relationship with it is... All of my family maternal and paternal were poor farming families. And though they were “poor” they were healthy and self sufficient. Growing their own food, making their own clothes, birthing at home, living life less reliant on government & more on small community. which is something I admire. After my trip to southern Mississippi earlier this year, I really just felt called to come home more. I went to visit my other grandpa’s land and I just thought wow, this is valuable family land.
Someday ima be a farm woman & work the land & grow organic food and plants. I feel like it’s a part of my destiny. 🌟 (Top + Jacket: @shopakira )