Cotton

Last year Sue and I were riding around Mooresville, looking at the pumpkin fields just before Halloween, when we saw the most beautiful field of cotton. Stopping the car I managed to pick a few bolls, feeling very much like a sharecropper as I did. It was, after all, someone else’s crop which I was picking.

I have grown cotton before; just a few plants on my back porch. I love the way it grows so patiently, with the buds giving way to the white flowers; which quickly turn pink; eventually become hardened bolls of the coveted white fluff.

We live in North Carolina, a state known for tobacco and cotton, both during the days of slavery, as well as after. Most of the tobacco is gone now, but cotton is still grown in the area. The beauty of the crop, as with opium, belies the pain behind the façade; the pastoral image of the Old South, with slaves singing in the fields as they harvested the crop.

In reality, when this time of year came, and the plants flowered so beautifully; creating fields of white flowers mimicking a snowfall; the slaves were very cognizant of what that beauty meant to them. This was the yearly lottery; when whole families could be separated from one another, never to meet again.

From late November, after the last of the crops were in, until the first of March, was the usual time when slaves were hired out for the winter; if they were lucky; or sold outright if they were not. The difference between the two lots is staggering; as with the former there was at least a chance of being re-united with your family after your “hiring out” was done. But, with the latter, there was no way of predicting what your fate would be, or even where that future lay. When you were “sold”; a vulgar term when used in conjunction with human beings; you were simply gone, most likely never to be seen again by your family or friends.

So, when I look at the beautiful plant which I have grown, or drive about looking at the fields of soon to be harvested cotton, I am very much aware of the “social” history of this pretty little flower. All of the cotton raised in this area is now harvested by machine, although many adults my age, both white and black, have picked cotton at some point in their lives.

There is no point to this post. It’s just me, looking past the flower.

McGill Rose Gardens - Charlotte's Secret Oasis

Just on the northern edge of uptown Charlotte there is McGill Rose Garden, filled with hundreds of different roses. It occupies about one half of a city street and sits near the auto scrap yards on one side, and at the edge of the Mass Transit Bus Terminal on the other. The fact that it is there at all is interesting enough, but the way it got to be there is even more interesting.

This is the history as per the brochure that is available at the McGill Rose Gardens;

In 1950, Henry McGill purchased a block of land that was home to a coal yard owned by W.A. Avant, owner of Avant Fuel and Ice Co. Henry McGill decided to keep the coal business running for a while afterwards. Helen McGill, Henry's wife, decided to beautify the area by planting two rose bushes. Helen eventually earned the title of "The Rose Lady" and added numerous rose beds over three decades. Henry lovingly maintained the the garden long after Helen's death in 1985.

In 1952, the McGill's opened the garden to the public for the first time on Mother's Day, and it was opened year round in 1967. The property was sold to the City in 1975 with stipulations; that the gardens would remain on the property, and that the McGill's would operate the garden on behalf of the City. Henry helped with the garden until his death in 2007 at age 103.

McGill Gardens, Inc, a 501(c)(3) non profit corporation was formed in 1996 to fulfill Henry and Helen's dream of keeping the garden alive for visitors to enjoy in the future.

The garden is lush and filled with over 1,000 roses and plants. They include native herbs and spices as well as 1,000 sunflowers each year which are havested and used to feed the birds at Presbyterian Hospital. The site includes a meditation garden for hospice as well as a children's garden for early exploration by tomorrow's would be botanists. Mixed in with this are various sculptures and statues that make gardening more that just about the flowers. The whole place is laid out with a casual indifference that only adds to its charm.

The garden is as large as it is dense, and at times it is easy to lose sight of the 65 story office buldings that sit less than 1/4 of a mile away. The area itself is, and has always been, industrial, so this Garden is somewhat of an Oasis. The varied landscaping, utilizing anything available, including this old railroad car, brings a new perspective to gardening. Daring to be different, while preserving the intended beauty, in the midst of an industrial area, is quite an achievement. To ensure that it is a gift that will keep on giving, long after you have gone, is quite a vision.