A Cotton Gin Christmas

When I complained to my father that the cotton gin’s crew and I shouldn’t have to work through the Christmas holidays, he said, “Son, we finished ginning last year’s cotton crop early, and you duck hunted all winter. Be thankful for that. Fall weather has been mighty unfavorable to the Mississippi Delta this year. Because of steady rains, we are way behind schedule. The gin must run nonstop until we’re caught up; this current dry spell will not last long.” Back then, storing cotton harvests in modules that were impervious to rains and could be ginned at any time was unheard of, meaning the threat of wet weather put unrelenting pressure on gin crews to provide empty trailers for transporting harvested cotton to the gin. Sleeping in snatches, gin crews had no choice but to work can to can’t. When I returned from overseas military duty, Dad put me to work managing his farm and gin. Having run the gin himself for many years, he knew full well what we faced.

That morning, he taught me the true meaning of Christmas: In giving, we receive. Hugging me, he ordered, “Eat, boy, and get to work.”

“Well, y’all,” I said to the weary crew, “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 have no choice but to run around the clock.” Then the door creaked open and an old, black man entered — my boyhood best friend and mentor Jaybird, carrying a large covered tray. In his eighties, he continued doing his part for the farm, just as he had done for decades, when he was Dad’s “straw boss” — the man who supervised field workers. 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 big 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 dawn to prepare a tray of delicious food for us. Sheepishly, we ate and fell to our tasks. In the wee hours of Christmas morning, while brewing yet another 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 another tray of cathead biscuits, 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. Hugging me, he ordered, “Eat, boy, and get to work.” I watched as the old black man ambled homeward. All Christmases are wonderful, but thanks to him, this one was extra special, one I will always remember: a cotton gin Christmas.

This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s upcoming book, entitled The Jaybird Tales. The book will be available before the holiday season. Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (jimmycecilreedjr@gmail.com).