Sharecropper Diary Entry
       It was early morning, just before the sun broke through the thick fog. I could hear the crows in the short distance, which meant the start of another long, excruciating day. I stretched in my cabin, the wood walls creaking as I moved. The cabin was nothing fancy, but it was home for my family and I—small, drafty, and always smelling of damp wood. I’d been living this life as a former slave, now sharecropper ever since the Civil War ended and the country was trying to figure itself out again.