I went to Progress, Mississippi every summer to plant and pick cotton and other produce on the place with my grandfather.
Every year he was told that he didn’t make out. That was a sad day at the house for us. My grandfather was up in age where he couldn’t walk and he would be on his hands and knees crawling in the fields trying to work on the farm. He and my grandmother never made good on their crops. They always fell behind and they could leave the place.