The fabric of our lives is the stuff of his dreams

If Julius Tillery ever needs to count sheep to hasten sleep, their wooly white  fleece no doubt reminds him of cotton. The stuff of his waking dreams is that common cash crop. He views it in lofty ways and not just a revenue source. 

We revisit the past as a prelude to visiting Tillery’s North Carolina cotton (and bounntiful veggie!) farm.  

Stretching from Maryland down to Florida and out through Texas, at one time “The Cotton Belt” was larger than the deep Southern region called “The Black Belt” and cotton was king of the U.S. economy. 

As synthetic fibers overtook cotton in clothing, the Cotton Council pushed back. Remember the Council’s The Fabric of Our Lives jingle that Aaron Neville sang?

                        The touch, the feel, the fabric of our lives . . .   

Others also sang that lyric but New Orleans native Neville knew what it was all about.  And B. B. King who grew up in the heart of the Mississippi Delta knew that history from the inside out. 

Birthplace of B. B. King. (Courtesy Mississippi Blues Project)

From the age of seven, “I chopped cotton. I picked cotton. I helped to plant it,” B.B. King said In a 2015 interview. As a young man, he drove a tractor on a cotton farm.

B.B. King recalls how a tractor he didn’t fully park before jumping out, took off and got damaged, a costly mistake he eventually paid for. 

Photo courtesy Mississippi Blues Project

"The touch, the feel, the fabric … ."  While the Cotton Council rhapsodically stretched the truth, nobody was glorifying the prevalence of polyester in our lives. And today, cotton products continue to hold their own amid a swelter of synthetics: in apparel, of course, and in sheets, towels, curtains, diapers and other household items (hand-picked Egyptian cotton has the most cachet and is grown in the U.S.), in beauty and health care: cotton balls, swabs, Q-tips, and gauze.  A cotton derivative is used in bath soaps and cosmetics.

Every part of the cotton plant has a use: .

• Crushed cotton seed, separated from the plant during harvesting, is used to make cotton meal to feed cows and chickens, and as fertilizers. 

•  The seed oil has culinary uses (cooking oil, mayonnaise, salad dressing), and is a form of biofuel. 

• The fuzzy stuff called “linters” (short cotton fibers that stick to seeds after a first grinding) contains cellulose that is used in computer chip boards and television screens. 

• Even the sticks and leaves are made into paper products such as rag paper and cardboard boxes.

1 flowering branch; 2 fruit, unopened; 3 fruit, partly opened. 

(Illustration for cotton plant in Merriam-Webster digital dictionary)

And before Madam CJ Walker’s hot comb, southern black women wrapped cotton skeins around the tufts of their hair, and/or their daughters' hair, to keep it untangled. (Ecollective)

Much of what I thought I knew about cotton farming — especially harvesting —  was old and influenced by stereotypes, traumatic memories and misunderstood  expressions. 

For example, a “cotton picker” in the United States has not been a person for decades. Forget those old images of workers bent over and dragging sacks laden with cotton harnessed across their bodies or leaning on hoes with a cart and a mule in the background.  

And oh, just so you know, “high cotton” (as in “steppin’ through high cotton”) doesn’t mean “tall.” It refers to high prices and a good crop. Fully grown, mature cotton is about three and a half feet tall.  

Ben Shahn, Cotton Pickers, Pulaski Co. Arkansas, 1935, gelatin silver print (Collection Library of Congress)

COTTON BLUES COUNTRY

Musical genius assuaged the souls of people who endured the brutal labor and low wages of working in the cotton fields.

Clarksdale is considered the birthplace of the blues. About 30 years ago local businessmen purchased Hopson Plantation and converted it into a tourist destination with a hotel and concert hall. The main attractions are the annual blues festival and workshops.

The company placed 12 Old Red mechanical spindle pickers on the farm. Based on patents by brothers John Daniel and Mack Rust, the machines pulled cotton bolls from a single row and collected them into a hopper. 

Such machines contributed to the Great Migration of thousands of black people seeking survival beyond the South.

As revolutionary as Old Red was, its performance pales by comparison to today’s six-row self-propelled cotton picker baler “combines” that pick six rows at once and ten to eleven acres in an hour. Touch controls inside the cab allow driver-operators to form cotton bricks and wrap bales with plastic covers.  

In a single day a combine can do the work of 250 people. Farms twice the size of Hopson’s 4000 acres which once  required hundreds of workers, operate year round with about five people. Using today’s agri hgh tech that plough, drill, level, seed, fertilize, and harvest, workers are  barely on the ground. Most of their time is spent in air conditioned cabs with computer monitors and GPS functions.

Cotton pickers stripped bolls from cotton plants by hand and fields were picked three or four times per season. A good worker picked 200 pounds a day.  An exceptional picker, 300 pounds a day!  Fifty to sixty workers were needed for a 200 acre farm.  

Picking implements began to be developed in the 1890s. The earliest versions failed because they could not prevent wet and damp fibers from twisting on the wires that pulled cotton from the plant.  

After World War II, the race to develop effective machines was on. Factories that had been focused on military tanks and trucks fiercely competed to develop agricultural machinery. International Harvester Company rose to the top by partnering with Hopson Plantation, a 4000 acre cotton farm in Clarksdale, Mississippi, about sixty miles from the Indianola plantation where BB King worked. 

In 1944, Hopson harvested its entire crop by machine. One Old Red picker could do the work of 40 people.  By some estimates picking cotton by hand cost nearly seven times as much as using Old Red.

“Old Red” shown on vintage postcard

“Opression- free cotton” Is a phrase coined by Julius Tillery to connote more than freedom from hand-picked cotton

Two days before Thanksgiving 2021, I drove to Garysburg in Halifax County, NC,  to meet Julius Tillery at his “offices”— two classrooms in an old elementary school across from the town’s fire station and city hall, next door to the community center.  Halifax is a mostly agricultural area on the state’s coastal plain. 

Julius Tillery is a fifth-generation farmer. That’s right: fifth!  Their ground was so good his ancestors didn’t have to flee in search of other suns. The family now owns 400 acres and plants cotton, soy, corn, collard greens and other veggies. Fifty acres are devoted to cotton.   

Julius Tillery (left), his father James Tillery Jr.(on tractor) and _____________ (insert name)  in a photo taken by the American Giant clothing comnpany.

With an intrinsically strong interest in the black farming tradition and an equally strong marketing savvy, Julius has made a name for himself as a farming advocate and entrepreneur.  His company, Black Cotton, is an online specialty company that sells cotton home décor products and t-shirts. With the exception of the t-shirts, all products are hand-made. 

But don’t get Tillery confused with other African Americans who are going back to the land or, as he said, “farming to find their freedom.” Laughing but half-serious, he explained, “I am not farming to find my freedom. I already know I’m free and who my people are.” [Halifax and nearby Northampton counties, which include the townships of Tillery and Bryantown, are full of Tilleries, many of whom are relatives.)

“We already know we’re free and we’re farming by choice and choosing to do it well to make a living.”

 When we met, Tillery bore little resemblance to the dapper guy, wearing a tan suit with a boll of cotton in the lapel and a light blue shirt, pictured on the company’s webpage. On the farm and nearby at his workshop in Garysburg, he wore regular work clothes. 

Just 35, Tillery, “the Puff Daddy of Cotton,” one of his aliases, is an inspiring figure for a younger generation interested in agriculture and the environment and he’s already a close mentor to many. 

HIs leadership includes serving as the North Carolina State Coordinator for the Black Family Land Trust, a Southern Agriculture Research and Education (SARE) Administrative Council member,  a North Carolina Forestry Advisory Council member, an advisor to the Garysburg town council, a charter member of the Durham, NC farmers’ market, and a board member of the North Carolina KIP (Knowledge is Power) charter schools.

Without conceit or confusion, Tillery describes himself as high profile but not high income: 

”I’m a very popular, well known ‘to do’ farmer—that’s the smallest cotton farmer I know. I sell the truth.”  By “to do,” he meant doing okay but not wealthy. 

Tillery’s honesty and broad vision for agriculture were officially recognized in October 2021, when he received the  William C. Friday award for distinguished work, leadership and community service from agriculture students at NC State in Raleigh.

Returning to the farm in 2008 after graduating with a degree in economics from University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, was never an if or a maybe. He knew farming would be his life’s mission; he also  wanted  a little more world experience. Before going back to the farm, Tillery worked for Rural Advancement Foundation International-USA, (RAFI), The Conservation Fund, and The Black Family Land Trust where he still works.

When Tillery pitched his niche Black Cotton concept to his parents, they didn’t get it.

He started Black Cotton in 2016 and promotes it using platforms like Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, LinkedIn, Pinterest, YouTube, and Snapchat. Now, it’s gotten to the point where the business promotes itself:  “I can sell a lot of it or less.”  

When Tillery pitched his niche Black Cotton concept to his parents, they didn’t get it. They could not imagine people thinking that cotton wreathes or bolls displayed in clear vases would be decorative or interesting enough to buy. In fact, they didn’t believe his products were real until they saw him sell $2500 worth in one day at the Durham farmers’ market.

Cotton with husks wreath, one of the original items.

More photos will be uploaded to this section

Need better quality photo. That’s why I didn’t take the time to erase the “Husk In” wording on the right.

Seated in a folded chair in the classroom turned workshop, Tillery vacillated  between sermonizing and joking about the realities of being a small farmer, a black farmer, credit and risk.

He gets it that average size farms cannot afford the same equipment as the larger farms. For him it’s simple, “We’re smaller and don’t have the same ability to get capital. “

He also recognizes that when small farmers, especially black farmers, try to expand by taking on a lot of debt, their land and equipment are likely to be foreclosed on and confiscated.  Though this is a consequence that can happen to any debtor who can’t pay the bills, Tillery believes “black debt is viewed differently than white debt.” We aren’t given the same reprieves. How often do you see a white person’s assets repossessed? They’re quick to repo on blacks.”

The sermonette on big farm vs. small farm economics was followed by others on government crop subsidies and labor.

Tillery doesn’t necessarily believe he needs to get bigger to be a better or smarter farmer.

“I always poor farm and we always make enough.”

This is part of his charm.

I followed him on the 20-minute drive out to the family farm in Northampton County, ranked third among the state’s top ten cotton producing counties. Nearby Halifax County is ranked number one. 

We could run a few more photos in this article.

Reaching the farm would have been impossible without an escort.  To get there, we crossed several highways and drove up and down country roads with farm houses of all sizes, planted and fallow fields,  and barns– a few with huge equipment and storage sheds.

When I reached the Tillery farm, he asked if I’d noticed the big houses with the big steel barns. “They belong to the big white farmers,” he said.

Tillery lives in his grandfather’s house next door to his great grandfather’s house and the old schoolhouse his great  grandfather helped build for black children in the area.  His parents’ brick rancher is just across the road. 

Not too far from his house are rows and rows of cotton and some shorter rows of collards, turnip greens, and rutabagas. Along with an aunt, he sells the produce to local people who are willing to pay him more than they are at  grocery store chains like Food Lion.

Some retail stores have told him they’d like to sell his produce, his brand but he knows retail supermarkets’ bulk prices for greens are thirty-five or forty cents per pound. This is a lot less than the three pounds for six dollars he makes in direct sales.

Tillery’s cotton crop was still in the fields. North Carolina cotton is harvested from September through November. He was expecting to harvest within a few weeks with his dad and a couple of cousins. He doesn’t employ migrant laborers, but admitted  there’s no longer an American workforce—black or white—willing to do seasonal or short-term work.  (Surrounding farms and seafood markets closer to the coast  hire migrant workers under the H2A and H2 B temporary visa programs.)

“An American agricultural work force no longer exists whether you’re talking about North Carolina, Mississippi, Virginia, or any other state in the South,” he said. “People don’t want to do  agricultural work or hard jobs unless they own the farm or company. They prefer regular jobs and solid hours like working at the poultry factory in nearby Louisburg.”  

This is a truism in most industrialized countries, not just the US.

Tillery’s success is based on his marketing savvy.  “I know how to sell my story and my product.”  His brand is as much about his social media presence—videos and pictures-- as his in-person presentations. “I’ll go out to this place or that place, and shake them up!”

But don’t let the salesmanship fool you. Behind all the bravura are skillful calculations and logistics based on how many sales per month are needed to make six figures annually, how to solve West Coast distribution problems and costs, how to avoid commission sales and manage production and labor costs.

He keeps the operations for Black Cotton simple by selling out what he and his crew make. They’ll go into production and make several hundred items at a time. The system cuts down on labor and storage costs.  For Tillery, this makes good sense and saves money.  Another tactic Tillery uses is slowing down sales by turning off the payment page on Black Cotton’s website to review data and rethink his moves and strategy. “If sales are equal to shipping costs, I’m not making money.”  

He also avoids the large retail route—big box stores like Walmart and Costco. They require large inventories and would pay him a fraction of what he now earns for online sales.

Tillery did try the small retail route—having boutiques and other vendors sell his Black Cotton products– but making return calls to collect payments or unsold merchandise was a hassle.

Black Cotton is not the only thing Tillery has on his mind these days. He feels the time is right for something new. Now, he’s trying to steer Black Cotton into another direction. He doesn’t give me the details but he’s not worried about anybody stealing his idea. “It’s too hard to just jump into cotton.”

He’s right.

Growing cotton is serious business and not for the uninitiated.  Try asking a crop scientist or an extension agent about cotton farming as I did and their first questions were “Do you own the land?” and “What kind of equipment do you own?” And their responses to my questions were almost always, “It depends.”

The crop scientist discouraged cotton farming and suggested I look into cover cropping-- growing wheat, orchard grass, hay or alfalfa.” He said, “It’s worth considering if you have open land.”

 The extension agent whose job is to help farmers with best practices and to prepare budgets -- nowadays mostly spreadsheets-sent me an Excel spreadsheet with three budgets. 

In eastern North Carolina where Tillery lives, the cost for planting one acre of cotton ranges from $650 -680.  This includes costs for seeds, about six types of fertilizer, weed and insect controls, crop insurance, machinery, interest on operating capital, growth regulators, labor, scouting –experts who examine your fields, and ginning The expected  selling price is $850–930. 

However, much of the cost of cotton farming can be claimed as business expenses on the farmers Schedule F tax form. Another part of these expenses will be returned in subsidy payments from the US government to farmers who grow row crops.

Regarding Julius Tilery’s description of his operation — "I always poor farm” — he’s making it work out and then some.  And then some more.