Cotton and Kudzu

     I can't say for certain, but I'm pretty sure that my style is a reflection of my life and experiences.  I've seen most of this country and it's truly a beautiful place. I've watched the sun set into the Pacific.  I've ridden wheelers through the desert of Arizona, panned for gold in Colorado, screamed Bold Venture at the Kentucky Derby, and strolled the cobblestone streets of Colonial Williamsburg.  I'm grateful for my travels and experiences.  But, nothing quite compares to my south. 
     If you've ever driven through the South there's two things you can't miss.  Cotton and kudzu, both familiar and comforting to those of us raised here.  Cotton fields roll over hills like blankets as far as the eye can see.  Kudzu rolls over everything that will hold still for a day and half.  Seriously, our neighbor left his truck parked to close to the edge of the woods one summer and didn't find it again till December.  Ok, well maybe that's an exaggeration but, it really can grow up to a foot a day on our hottest and most humid days of the summer.  At the end of the 19th century someone saw it in Japan and thought it was attractive.  So, a gathering was brought back to the states.  It was run over a gazebo in Philadelphia at our nations centennial celebration.  Though, it didn't really take to the climate of Philly, it quickly spread south where it rooted and prospered.  Japan has natural combatants to keep it under control.  Guess what, we don't.  They've tried things over the years, but nothing worked to eradicate it.  Most effective seems to be herds of goats.  Nope not kidding.  I know a lady who'll rent her goats out to you to clear her fields of the pesky vine. 
 

                         
                                                  
                                                                        Perty ain't it.


And I do love my cotton.  The fields that surround my house, are bright white and fluffy for almost two months a year.  My Great-Grandmother and Grandpa tell stories about picking cotton in the hot sun for hours, it was survival.  However, I'm young and the only person I ever saw in a cotton field was the fella driving the combine.  They don't share my fondness for the boll. 

                           
                               Every year I cut fresh cotton bouquet's to place around my house.


Of all the views from coast to coast, nothing ever touched my kudzu and cotton.  I doubt it ever will.