The Cotton Fields We Come From

As told by Aunt Mel at Granny’s Funeral

I was sitting beside Aunt Mel at my Granny’s funeral. The air was heavy, not just with grief—but with memory.

She looked at me, steady and sure, and said,
"You know this house? That field right there used to be cotton. Me and your Granny picked it when we were little girls. That’s what we did. Before school. After school. Sometimes instead of school. We picked cotton right there."

I sat still. The weight of her words hit deeper than any history book ever could.

In that moment, the truth was no longer distant or abstract. It was personal. It was bloodline. It was the very soil we stood on.

That story changed me.
It planted something inside of me—something that would grow into No More Cotton.

What began in that cotton field didn’t end there. The pain, the endurance, the strength—it was passed down. And now, it’s being transformed.

No More Cotton is my tribute. My protest. And the Irony! This TEXTILE is the most "Luxurious" Material IN THE WORLD.