There are still five locks of cotton in every boll.
Remember how far it seemed to the other end?
Right here it looked as if deer might have wandered through
and trampled the stalks.
(He who mows burst my bubble -- machinery did it during
irrigation in the dry spell a while back.)
Right here looks kind of dark and scary, tall cotton.
Machinery doesn't require a wide middle to drag a pick-sack through.
Here's a selfie to show that it's taller than me.
I'm glad there's a machine that takes care of all this.