Sharecropper’s daughter

BY ARLINE TILLERY HUGHES, AS TOLD TO LINDA DARBY HUGHES

I was born in Colquitt County in 1918, the 10th child of 12. Papa and Mama didn’t give me a middle name. I guess they had just about run out of names by the time I came along.

Papa was a rural mail carrier, delivering mail on horseback, but he mostly made a living as a sharecropper, which was hard with so many kids, especially when the first five were girls! He had almost given up on having sons to help with the heavy work, but Mama finally blessed him with four.

I know now that we were poor, but somehow I never knew it then. Our lives were full of hard work, but there was always time for fun.

We never had many things from stores, but always had good food—cracklin’ cornbread, fresh string beans, corn, fried okra, Southern-fried chicken and tomatoes warm from the field.

One spring, Papa bought a pony named Bimbo to pull the plow, but Bimbo was so mean he spent most of that summer chasing us kids around the fields. Our outhouse was in the pasture, so we’d wait ’til we got desperate, then make a beeline for it and slam the door before he could bite us. Papa finally decided it was easier to give up Bimbo than move the outhouse, so he sold him.

When I was 13, I was stricken with typhoid fever and spent nearly a year in bed. As I recovered, I had to learn to walk again. Papa would stand me on his big boots and hold me up against him while we walked. He was my hero, my safe haven.

Evenings often found Papa kneeling in the fields, seeking God’s will for his family and thanking him for his mercy.

My brothers, sisters and I never lacked for something to do; it just wouldn’t occur to us to be bored. We didn’t need shoes in summer, our feet were tough enough for the soft plowed rows. We worked and played outdoors ’til dark drove us in, tired and ready for supper and bed, where we’d curl up together like puppies.    

I’m 89 now and often forget what I did yesterday. My great grandchildren and great-greats are precious; I love their little faces and sticky kisses, but I sometimes get them mixed up.

But those days with Mama, Papa, my sisters and brothers are just as real as they were 80 years ago. I can still feel the sun on my head as I chopped cotton—and the thrill of outrunning old Bimbo across the pasture. And I can smell the warm earth and Mama’s good cooking and see Papa in the twilight thanking God for a good harvest.

As the time draws nearer to when I will see them all again, I thank God for the memories of those golden days. They remind me that when my work here is done, I will once again run home to the safe haven of my Father’s love.

Arline Tillery Hughes is a resident of Douglasville where she enjoys crocheting, bingo and visits from family and friends. Linda Darby Hughes is her daughter-in-law.