OUR COLONIAL REGIONS
SOMEHOW, LOOKING AT Ducktown and at Providence Canyon, at the washed and gully-cut hillsides, at the thin top soil, you get the feeling that the Southern States have been exporting the very earth. There is something terrifying in that thought; something even more alarming than the thought of exporting its people; something more frightening even than the hunger of a sharecropper's family. For the good earth, with its rich smells, is man's home and somehow sacred; and the thought of the bleeding hills and the red rivers is more pitiful than anything else in the picture of the South.
Only exploitation could account for the enormous waste of human and natural resources. Why were not these people engaged in more intelligent farm operations, planting crops that would not loot the earth of the stored richness that they were obligated as men to leave as a legacy to their children's children? Why were not many of them engaged in industrial employments? Why must they go to Dayton and Detroit and Danbury