"The Dust Bowl" by Dayton Duncan and Ken Burns (2012)

When we think of the Dust Bowl it is generally thought of in the narrow terms of the classic “The Grapes of Wrath” by John Steinbeck. And, of course, the iconic movie of the same name starring Henry Fonda comes to mind as well. We think in terms of Oklahoma as the only state to have endured the disaster of the Dust Bowl, when in truth the events described by Steinbeck; and shown in the movie; were really happening in a small area of Oklahoma, in the Panhandle region, which straddles the borders of 4 other states; including Colorado, New Mexico, Texas and Kansas.

In Ken Burn’s PBS documentary “The Dust Bowl”, this commonly accepted myth is shattered. Drawing upon the photographs and memories of those who endured the Dust Bowl, authors Dayton Duncan and Ken Burns have painted a new, and more accurate portrait of the Dust Bowl and how it came to be in the first place.

In one sense the Dust Bowl was natural disaster, caused by a severe 10 year drought. But, in other respects, the effects of that drought would not have been so severe if the farmers had not been able to cultivate such a large area of land, resulting in no natural barriers being left in place to counter the fierce prairie winds, and the resultant dust storms.

The authors also devote a great amount of time in reviewing some of the Federal Programs which were put in place in order to save the farmers from going broke. Many of these programs were very controversial at the time, particularly the Resettlement Program in which the government bought the land from the farmers, allowing them a chance to resettle elsewhere. Thousands of farmers were spared a life of poverty and malnutrition by this program. The land was taken out of production and re-seeded as grasslands, the thinking being that this would help not only the people affected, but also possibly slow down the dust storms. Programs like these, though not always entirely successful, are what helped to keep 75% of the population from leaving the affected areas. That’s right; only 25% left as shown in “The Grapes of Wrath.” Most people, for a variety of reasons, elected to stay on their land if they could.

Books like this, and documentaries like Ken Burn’s makes, are what should keep us ahead of the curve when it comes to disasters, both natural and man-made. They comprise not only a veritable blueprint of what went wrong, but also a valuable insight into what it takes to make things right again. In times like these, there is much to be learned from the past.

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.