When I complained to my father that the gin crew and I should not have to work through Christmas, he said, “Son, we finished ginning last year’s cotton crop early, and you duck hunted all winter,” he answered. “Be thankful for that. Fall weather hasn’t cooperated this season. The gin must run nonstop; this dry spell won’t last long.”
Back then, picking two rows of cotton at once was harvesting’s latest technology. It was a time when storing cotton in modules was unheard of. The threat of rainy weather put unrelenting pressure on gin crews. Empty trailers had to be available, meaning we had to work can-to-can’t, sleeping in snatches.
When I returned from overseas military duty, Dad put me to work managing his Mississippi Delta cotton farm and gin. Having managed the gin himself for twenty years, he knew full well what we faced.
As we huddled in the gin office, I said, “Well, y’all, it’s Christmas Eve morning. The weather forecast is good, the gin yard is covered with full trailers, and the harvesters will be rolling as soon as the dew dries. We’ve got no choice but to run around the clock” — the last thing those exhausted men wanted to hear.
The door creaked open and an old, black man entered. It was Jaybird, my boyhood mentor and best friend. He was carrying a large covered tray. In his eighties, Jaybird insisted on continuing to do his part for the farm, just as he had done for decades when he was the “straw boss” — the man who supervised fieldwork.
Not only was Jaybird renowned for his strong work ethic, but also he was outright famous for his “cathead” biscuits, a true Southern delicacy. Well before dawn, he had cooked a batch for us.
Inspiration is beautiful, especially when it comes at precisely the right moment. Here we were … strong, able-bodied young men, bemoaning the fact that we must work during the Christmas holidays. And here was a frail old man, stooped by years of toil, who rose hours before we had to stand before his stove and prepare a tray of delicious food for us. Sheepishly, we ate and fell to our tasks.
In the wee hours of Christmas morning, as I brewed a pot of coffee in the gin office, I saw lights flicker on in Jaybird’s home, just down the road. Later, as frost glittered in dawn’s first light, I watched as he plodded toward the gin, carrying yet another tray of catheads, piping hot.
As he had done so many times during my growing-up years, Jaybird taught me — not by saying, but by doing. That morning, he taught me the true meaning of Christmas: In giving, we receive. He hugged me, told me to eat and get to work.
I watched as the beloved old black man ambled homeward. All Christmases are wonderful, but thanks to him, this one was extra special, one I’ll always remember as … Christmas at the cotton gin.
Jimmy Reed is an Oxford, Mississippi resident, Ole Miss and Delta State University alumnus, Vietnam Era Army Veteran, former Mississippi Delta cotton farmer and ginner, author, and retired college teacher.
This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s latest book, entitled The Jaybird Tales.
Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)).
