White fleecy cotton
The child ran through the furrows, ignoring the snags of the briar vines. Cotton fields were her playground while her mother worked. Mary’s mother picked cotton; it was a necessity to live safely in the plantation’s row of cottages. Her father did the same, and for two generations, this was their life. The thorny bushes yielded fluffy bits of white that had to be gleaned, cleaned, and bagged for the owner of the plantation. It was then weighed and had to meet a certain quota for the day. It was hot, sweaty, back breaking work with the only reward being a small one room cabin with only a stove and a bed. This was the life lived by many of the poor and enslaved in the days before machines took over.
For a true version of picking cotton you might like this: