Cotton Sack Diary

Int. Papá - day
Chapter Eight, The Cotton Sack It was late October, the end of grape season. We went to three different farms before finding one that had something to be picked. A cotton field in which was a never ever ending rows of cotton, further than the eye can see. I new we were approaching Corcoran. Later that evening, I unfolded the sack to pick cotton and laid them out in the middle of the floor. Mine was the largest one at twelve feet, my eldest son Roberto's and his mother's were only ten feet long.
My son Fransisco asked where his was, and in my head I new he would be able to do it, but I told him he was to young. I shook my head without saying another single word.

I asked Fransisco to stretch out the middle of the sack do I