A cloud of white clay dust erupted from my jeans as I slapped my hands on my legs, trying in vain to remove the dirt from my hands. My uncle live in state of Mississippi. I’ve always remembered that hot Mississippi morning in September when I was when I was visiting my cousins and helping them dig sweet potatoes. We wanted to finish early so we would have time to go fishing later before it got dark. To them, digging for those golden roots in the ground was a living; to me it was something that was standing in the way of us having fun.

A lot has changed over the years. Instead of the little 60 acre ‘tater patch, my cousins produced 2500 acres of sweet potatoes this year in several different varieties. After they ran out of their own land, it seemed that they leased every vacant lot or field they could find and planted more potatoes.