The Cotton Fields of Confusion

A few weeks ago, I went to visit my friend Amy in Stone Mountain, GA. I knew her at Parson’s, and that was the last time she was willing to live away from Georgia. She has an interior design business now, and a family too, so we don’t get much of a chance to catch up. But after a year of trying to make this happen, we met up at an antebellum estate that had a new life as a bed & breakfast.

The place was lovely, but I almost didn’t get there. Instead, I got lost. Off-the-map lost. See, I didn’t spring for the navigation system for my rental car. (Don’t say it!) I must have taken some moon-shiner’s back road through the agricultural heart of the south. I had no idea there were so many farms! I saw acres something I’d never seen growing on weekend trips to The Hamptons. I got out of the car to look, but closer inspection revealed perfectly legal cotton. Then, when I tried to restart the engine – nothing! Out of gas?! I did have tennis shoes, fortunately, anticipating some court time with Amy, and I headed off in search of help.

It was a good five miles before I found a farmhouse, and its owner, Zed. I told him what happened and asked if he had a gas can. He pointed to a gaggle of geese and a bucket of kale and asked if I would feed them. Okaaaaay. (Cue the banjo music.) He came back with a gas can and insisted on driving me to my car. I reluctantly agreed, hoping for the best, i.e. that he was not an axe murderer. (He sure looked like one.) As I tossed the last of the greens to the geese I started to nervously struck up a conversation “San Franciscans pay good money for kale in the top restaurants.” He looked at me as if I were nuts. No, just nervous. I continued to chatter all the way to the car. The inside of his pick up truck looked like a hurricane had whipped through. It turns out that he had picked up the junk food wrappers, cans and bottles on the highways, and he’d recycle them as soon as he got around to it - after his organic cotton harvest. What?! Zed was not a psycho-killer but instead, an organic cotton farmer (he doesn’t even kill bugs)! We sat and talked about sustainable farming, biodynamics and fair trade business practices. I told him about my first organic cotton polo shirt and how I wanted to do more. I was very impressed with what he was doing and he was delighted (in an eccentric, curmudgeonly way) by my efforts to create green products at Red House. And he’s genuinely interested in providing us with his excellent quality cotton. This was great! After we got the rental started, he presented me with a “bouquet” of fresh picked cotton and I thanked him for his help. (Hey, I wonder if he could use an intern…)

By the time I got to Tara, or whatever the b&b was called, I was bone-tired and ready for a drink. I didn’t have to go far to find Amy. She was asleep in the porch swing, the pashmina I had given her for Christmas draped over her shoulders, and two empty mint julep cups on a silver tray next to her. I was beaten to the punch bowl! Julep in hand, I sat down next to a now-awake Amy. As I told her of my adventure, she perked right up and said, “At least there’s still time for tennis!” Well, I’d already broken Vacation Vow #1: “Never cocktail when hungry.” So, I was a mess on the court. Amy was apparently immune to this commandment and beat me soundly.