“But, Dad, we ginned cotton straight through Thanksgiving,” I moaned. “Can’t we at least get off for Christmas?”
“Son, we finished picking and ginning last year’s crop early, and you 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, and we can’t afford to have cotton pickers stopped, waiting for empty trailers, when the ground is dry and the sun is shining.”
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 my men and I had to work around the clock, sleeping in snatches.
When I returned from overseas military duty, Dad put me to work managing his Mississippi Delta cotton plantation. Having run the gin for twenty years, he knew full well what we faced.
As we huddled around the gin office heater early that morning, I said, “Well, y’all, it’s Christmas Eve … the weather forecast is good, the yard is covered with full trailers, and the cotton pickers 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 while serving as Dad’s “straw boss” — the man who supervises other employees in the fields.
Not only was Jaybird renowned for his strong work ethic, but also he was outright famous for his “cathead” biscuits. Well before dawn, he had cooked a batch for us.
Inspiration is a beautiful thing, especially when it comes at precisely the right moment. Here we were … strong, able-bodied young men, bemoaning the fact that we had to work during the holidays. And here was a frail old man, stooped by years of toil, who had risen hours before we had to stand before his stove and prepare this Southern delicacy just 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.
After handing me the tray, he gave me a hug and said, “Eat, boy, and get to work.”
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.
Other books by Jimmy Reed include 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)).
