12 February 2007. Sun, but with clouds to the west. Stolid woman, late 20s, at window monitor, her young daughter tucked away on gray rug at end of aisle, alongside. Sitting with her head down, arms around her knees, head tucked in. Bottoms of her small jeans lined with several inches of lace. Worn patent leather shoes. Story from Alan Lomax--the black women in Mississippi--customs from Africa--how the women there were so much responsible for the agriculture--maize and yams. They lived close by the fields--to be able to take their young children with them as they worked. A pattern of necessity... Her face up now, fine brown-blond hair, upturned nose, sloping gray-brown eyes--agile little mouth, pulled in at the corners--one expression after another--inner life unknown...
Come on there, chillun,
Sister Katie, we got to go,
Sister Katie, we got to go,
Sister already gone,
We got to go,
We got to go...
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