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AS a five year old daughter and the last of six children born to Zebulon Dewitt King, Sr. and Mildred Lee EArp King, I remember those "old cotton fields back home". Ours was on a small farm that dad and my brothers worked. All of us helped in the fields to hoe weeds from the "king crop", cotton. I had a little hoe, just like the big ones, but to fit my size. I enjoyed being in the field with my Uncle Sam and Aunt Mary King and their children. It was the day when family really meant family. We shared dinner (which people call lunch, now). And then if it was blackberry season, June or July, we would gather up our little "king syrup" buckets and go down to the pasture brier thickets. The plump wild blackberries would be picked with care as to not prick fingers. Uncle Sam was fun to go "blackberry pickin'" with, as he told lots and lots of funny true stories of the family. Sometimes I wished he was my daddy as he always had a laugh. But God knew what he was doing. My father was quiet, yet sure. He was a hard taskmaster while cutting pulpwood and loading it with my brothers, Uncle Sam, and a few hired hands to make a living.

Picking cotton when it matured was another family task. Dad hired a few hands to help do this also. My small burlap over-the-shoulder bag was just right for me at five years old to pull the fluffy cotton from the bushes covering a large field beside our house. AS an honest person, dad expected his hired help to be honest, too. One man put rocks in his bag and filled it with cotton. Daddy weighed each bag and paid out according to how many pounds of cotton each person picked since this was how he got paid when he went to sell it at the local cotton gin(as best I can remember). Dad knew right quick something did not add up with this particular bag of cotton. He emptied it out and found the rocks. At the end of the day, he paid the man, but stated he did not need him anymore. He only paid fair wages for a fair day's work. And he meant it!

Those days were special, hot, no air conditioning; floor fans circulated the hot air and ice tea kept us cool as did ice cold water or washing off in the galvanized tub with cool water from the well. The big tub was more like my swimming pool. Mom always cooked enough dinners for all to be well fed. And homemade biscuits were the best! Lots of potatoes, either stewed or mashed with milk and creamy with butter added, oh how she could keep us nourished!

The best thing about our little farm was the love we felt our parents had for each other. Mom's love overflowed to anyone she met. Then my older brothers finished high school and went away to college, 500 miles away. At the same time,I began first grade. And dad started to rent our fields out to his brother-in-law, a larger machined farmer. We missed the family toiling together at times. But we made many trips to visit my brothers. This was the beginning of lots of changes. My brothers, all four, were dad's helpers in the field and in the pulpwood business. He concentrated on hiring two others to help in cutting and hauling pulpwood until I was in high school. It was then he had to go back to public work after all these years. But somehow, he always found work to support his household.

Work ethics, social gatherings such as church and family reunions, and caretaking when one of us became ill; these are the best memories.

My brothers are: Z.D.King, Jr. Donald Ray King Kenneth Nelson King

Larry Olin King, Sr.

My sister is: Donna Marie King Smothers

My name is: Vivian Christine King Lowery Smith


We grew up in Indian Trail, NC near present day Hemby Bridge, NC, located in Union County, NC. Our town seat is Monroe, NC.

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