Tomatoes and Cotton

When I was around ten years old, I went with Butch Black and his folks one Sunday after church to a cannery near Bixby, Oklahoma where one of his brothers was working. They took me to the Patty Ann restaurant for lunch that day. It was the first time I had ever eaten in that Henryetta landmark of the 1950s and also the first time I had heard the term "Burger in a Basket". It was so good; one of the best hamburger and fries I have ever had.

When I hear the word Bixby, I think of two things. First is about that experience and the trip to the cannery. The other thing is that Bixby was the hometown of my old school friend, Ernie Perkins, at Chelsea after we moved there in 1960.

But I digress. Of the trip with the Black family, the memory of going into that cannery is something that is still vivid in my mind. I was impressed by the sweet aroma of the tomotoes, the sight of tomato peels everywhere, and large fields of crops around the Bixby area which is situated along the Arkansas River and within its flood plain.

Butch and I rode in the back of their old black Chevy pickup, probably a late 1940's model, the ones where you had to turn the ignition key then step on a big knob on the floor board to start the engine. Those old Chevy pickups had a unique smell in the cab and a distinct sound that was heard each time the brake pedal was released and flopped back up against the floor.

Mr. Black took all the gravel country back roads from their place on Wilson Road over to Bixby, driving very slowly along the way. He liked to look for scrap metal and other potentially valuable items along the road and in the ditches when he traveled. Whenever he would see something of interest, he would stop to take a look at it and would toss it into the pickup bed if he deemed it be worth a few cents at the junk yard. It seemed like a long trip to Bixby that day.

The Black family sometimes traveled to Modesto, CA during the harvest season and would pick friut to earn extra income. The one and only time I ever picked cotton was on one particular occasion when I spent the night with Butch. The rural schools would let the kids out of school for a few days each year during the cotton picking season. Those days were referred to as Cotton Pickin' Days. On the day we were to pick, we went to a field a little ways north of their house along the Wilson Road toward the Wilson community school and store. I didn't pick much cotton that morning, but got an introduction to the process and how it felt to drag one of those long cloth sacks with the strap slung over my shoulder.