SIKESTON, Mo. — I wasn’t sure if visiting a cotton field was a good idea. Almost everyone in my family was antsy when we pulled up to the sea of white. The cotton was beautiful but soggy. An autumn rain had drenched the dirt before we arrived, our shoes sinking into the ground with each step. I felt like a stranger to the soil. My daughter, Lily, then 5, happily touched a cotton boil for the first time. She said it looked like mashed potatoes. My dad posed for a few photos while I tried to take it all in. We were standing there — three generations strong — on the edge of a cotton field 150 mil…