Although tobacco farming is a dirty demanding job the
first steps are clean and full of the promise of life. Early in spring, long
before the threat of frost was over, Daddy piled felled trees and shrubs in a
four by twelve foot area in an open field with good soil. He set fire to the
pile at each end and in the middle. We kids stood by marveling at the intense
heat and light; we relished at tossing twigs and leaves into the fire.
When the fire was done, the ashes cool, Daddy framed the
area with long straight logs and raked the ash covered soil smooth. He hammered
headless nails around the perimeter at eight to ten inch spaces. Some days
later he spread his carefully saved Burly tobacco seeds in ten feet of the bed.
The other two feet was reserved for leaf lettuce seeds. Cheese cloth was
stretched over the bed and secured on the nails of the frame. We waited
and prayed for rain.
Seeds have their own schedule for sending up green shoots as
the conditions and time dictate. But magically the tobacco came. First a thin green shoot – then a separation
into two leaves. The plant was on its way.
Lettuce meanwhile was doing its
own thing, growing at its own pace – dreaming, no doubt, of the day it would
grace the dinner table – garnished with crumpled bacon in a sweet vinegar
dressing.
Weeks later the lettuce was meeting its desired end, and
tobacco plants hardened by the removal of the canvas and exposure to the
elements were gingerly pulled from their
comfortable bed and transported to the field. Dig a hole, put in the plant, add
a bit of dirt, add a cup of water, add more dirt, tamp it down. Then hope and
pray. Plant a few beyond the state’s allowance for replacement
of any that might not survive. Every living plant was money in the
pocket.
Now the long hard work of summer tending the major cash crop
we had.
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