Roots and Routes: My Family's Journey Through Cotton, Migration, and Culture

My grandmother's hands were soft and wrinkled—a softness earned through years of picking prickly cotton and preparing countless meals. Collard greens, shucking corn, kneading dough, baking cakes, dancing, singing, running, hiding, escaping. At the time, I didn't grasp the mystery within her hands—a mystery woven from experiences I knew nothing about but always yearned to understand.