My friend commented that she'd never actually seen cotton growing in a field. I, on the other hand, grew up for part of my life in Alabama, where we learned about the importance of the cotton gin by going to a field, picking some cotton, and seeing how difficult it is to pull the seeds out of it.
I assumed that I would spend my life surrounded by fields of crops. But then I moved to South Florida, where I'm surrounded by concrete.
|Vizcaya with Miami in the Background|
A few years ago, we drove through Georgia to get to my grandmother's funeral. For part of the trip, we took some back roads. I saw cotton fields and was struck by how seldom I see cotton growing anymore--or any agriculture.
|North Carolina Apple Orchard|
I will spend much of my life mourning all that is passing away, missing all the items from my past which once seemed so permanent.
It's a potent lesson, from the cotton field that ends in a cemetery--nothing is permanent. All is passing away.