Putin' in Baccer in Eastern North Carolina

You would never know it today with the Government discouraging tobacco production on small farms, but since day one, tobacco was the main money crop in eastern North Carolina. It built the state in fact. The livelihood of the entire family depended on a successful growing season and harvest of this one crop. The farmer bonded with the land and his family pulled together for the entire production season. It brought them closer to each other than any other force on the face of the Earth, aside from their deep religious beliefs. The entire local community also bonded  together to make it happen and shared resources between farmers and families. In many ways, this bond has been lost due to machinery and streamlined harvesting processes of today, and the cold reality that this crop is no longer a desirable product in the United States. The following paragraphs cover the period between 1950 and 1980 when most work was done manually, before automated harvesters.

Breaking ground in the dead of Winter

Tobacco bed from NCSU Digital Archives

In January, I remember seeing the farmers prepare the seed beds. They would locate a piece of ground in a somewhat protected area and break up the soil very loosely and fine so the seeds could germinate easily in the cold bed. Usually the bed would be gassed with Methalbromide, now banned in the US, to remove any rodents, nematodes and stray weeds, then the seeds added in February or March and covered by a small layer of dirt. To a kid that loved to play in the dirt, and that had never seen a sandbox with a cover on it, this dirt was a perfect playground. The perfect place to play with trucks that leave tracks in the dirt to make paths much like the pathways to the fields, but Mom and Grandma's firm hand kept me off the fine dirt and forced me to play in the hard packed Earth next to the beds. The ground was treated as being sacred and could not be packed down by toys or walking on it. Wide boards were used to lay above the ground so the seeds could be broadcast over the bed without packing the dirt too tightly or leaving footprints where water could pool up and drown the fragile seedlings.

Tobacco seeds are very small and only about the size of ground pepper. Reeds from a nearby ditch bank would be cut around 12" or so, and placed strategically in the bed as a linen gauze like cover would be spread over it to keep the seeds warm. Later perforated plastic is used, but that wasn't available prior to the Fifties. The reeds allowed the linen cover to ride up as the small plants grew underneath without the weight of the linen smashing the plants down. The family, usually the farmer's wife and kids, would adjust the linen in case certain areas didn't release enough to allow the plants to rise towards the Sun. A successful seed bed would be covered from end to end and side to side with a solid covering of green plants, all growing at the same rate. My Grandaddy Bud had his beds near the back of a field, in a clearing just inside the woods which provided protection from the Winter winds, and kept the beds moist to allow the plants to grow quickly under the covering even in the cold of Winter. Around April, the plants would be ready for transplanting having reached a height of around 6"- 8".

Transplanting time

A set of 4 rows divided by a truck row in Bertie County, NC
Glen Hoggard Farms 2012

As soon as weather permitted, the farmer would plow the fields, disc the land to break up the bigger clods of dirt, to create a flat canvas of land to lay out his rows. A tobacco patch was laid out with two rows, then an empty truck row, then four rows, and another truck row and repeat with a truck row between every four rows. This may seem to be a complicated geometric design, but the farmer used some inventive tools to lay out his fields so that every truck row lined up perfectly and his field matched his allotment for the year. The Agricultural Dept. determines how much tobacco a farmer could have, based on previous years and what they expected the market would demand for the current growing season. If the USDA said you can only grow 3 acres, then the farmer had to ensure he only planted that amount. It really took a lot of math skills to lay out a field properly to maximize the amount of plants that could be set in each row and the number of rows he could put in a field. Once he was satisfied with the layout, he would run off the rows, making each one as straight as possible. A farmer could be ridiculed by his neighbors for having crooked rows, but it was no small feat to produce straight rows using mules prior to the fifties, but a lot easier using a Farmall tractor when mules were replaced in the fifties. The Farmall A and later the Super A was a boon to the small farmer, and the end of mules. Once you run off one row, it was easy to keep the rest in line as the wheels would follow the "V" in the previous row. One man could till his land faster and with less labor than ever before.

With the fields ready, it was time to transplant the seedlings from the beds into the field. This is where the back breaking work began for the season. Usually, the farmer's wife and a few ladies in the neighborhood would gently pull up the seedlings and place them in flats about 18" by 24", selecting the best plants as they go, and discarding those they believe will not survive the planting process. My Grandmother Brown had an old ladder back chair with the legs cut off to make it lower so she could sit in it and pull up the plants without leaning over all day, and she also used it in the garden later on harvesting low hanging vegetables. Us smaller kids were allowed to play along side of the beds, but seldom trusted to grade the plants that would be used, but the older kids were expected to pitch in and carry the flats from the bed to be picked up by the crews taking them to the field in the farmer's pick-up truck.

The rows where the plants would be set were leveled flat to allow easier transplanting, the farmer would put a blade or often a board on the front hydraulic arms to knock off the top of the row as they planted. Having a mechanical tobacco setter made this process much easier than the pre-fifties when the farmer used a sharpened peg, added water, placed the plant green side up and firmed the dirt gently with his shoe. The mechanical sitter pulled by a mule was later adapted to attach to the draw bar on the tractor. Two people siting on a flat, uncomfortable seat with flats of plants on their laps alternated placing a plant in the mechanical arms that took the plant down to the ground, inserted it, watered it from a tank on the tractor, and covered the roots with two large wheels that compressed the dirt around the plant.  Playing in the dirt at the end of the field, it seemed to be a slow process, but it was a huge time saver and far faster than ever before. Quite a bit of ground could be covered in a day setting plants this way, and each plant was precisely the exact same distance apart.

Once the seedlings took hold of their new environment, they would begin to grow, but a few would not make it. The family would go through the field and replace any plants that didn't survive the transplanting process with new plants  left over from the beds. This had to be done the old fashioned way by removing the dead plant and manually planting a new plant. As the plants become stronger, the farmer would use cultivators to loosen the soil and break up any grass and weeds that may have used a free ride on his fertilizer. This only cleared the bottom of the furrows and the family would use hoes to remove weeds between the plants, we called chopping tobacco. They didn't cut the tender plants, but using the weeding hoes carefully removed grass and weeds from between the plants. Nothing was worse when pulling the leaves later than when a farmer let the weeds get ahead of him and the rows were covered in grass and prickly briers.

Fields of Gold

After a few weeks, the plants will get too tall for the tractor to pass over. Their leaves will become broader and shade the ground so weeds can't get enough sunlight to flourish.  The plants will grow fairly fast in the heat and humidity of the early summer aided by the occasional shower of rain. Those showers are critical and too much rain is as bad as not enough, but is completely out of the farmer's control, but his faith in the land usually gets him through. Eventually the plants will blossom with flowers in its' attempt to produce seeds. As pretty as these pink and white flowers are, they rob the plant from producing leaves, so the farmer's family will go through the field and break off the tops of each plant and throw them away. Earlier varieties of plants had numerous suckers. Smaller sprouts that grew along the stalk that basically sucked the life out of the leaves. These had to be removed by hand. Topping and suckering the field was a labor intensive process usually done by the farmer's family. In the early morning, while the plants are still covered in dew, the suckers and tops break off easily. Once the day heats up, the plants become more rubbery and breaking off the tops is much more difficult. A mechanical topper was invented allowing a farmer to attach it to his tractor and at a relatively high speed, mow the tops off evenly across the field, assuming the plants were racing toward the Sun at the same rate. Naturally some were not at the same level, so manual topping is still required, but not on every plant.

In North Carolina, you couldn't pick a worst harvest time than in the heat and humidity of July, but that's when the tobacco is ready for its' first harvest.  Unlike its cousin of Burley tobacco in the western part of the state that is harvested by cutting the entire stalk in the field in the Fall, Eastern NC tobacco ripens slowly from the bottom of the stalk upwards. The leaves are ready to pick when they start turning a yellowish-green color. If you wait too long, they shrivel up and die. By this time, the farmer has already gone around the neighborhood and handpicked his primers and barn crew. As bad as conditions in the fields sound, it was actually an honor for a teenager in the neighborhood to be picked by the farmer to help put in tobacco. The farmer needed reliable help and once his crew roster was set for the season, he didn't have many options to substitute with another primer if one couldn't show up. Although the conditions and the work sucked, teens could make good money in the fields and we'd try to line up work everyday during the summer with different farmers. All the farmers in the neighborhood would usually get together at the local store and work out which days each would harvest their crops. Many had public jobs and would harvest on their days off and a gentleman's agreement would be reached to allow sharing crews and family members to ensure each had enough people available to get the job done. Some bigger farmers would have two days scheduled each week.

Breaking your back: The first day of harvest

That first priming was awful, but it got better each week. The bottom leaves were called sand lugs. This was the lowest quality of all the leaves, were dirty from having rain splattering dirt on the leaves, and you had to bend way down to reach them. These are now pulled off and thrown away. That first day, you arrive at the farmer's house as the Sun rises and are taken to the field in an empty tobacco trailer. Early on, these were sleds about three feet wide with six upright posts with burlap bags draped across them. A nail at the top of each post held the bag upright and could be easily removed so the sides would open. These sleds would tear up the ground as they slid over the paths leading to the fields and were left overs from the mule days. Eventually trailers with an axle were employed, usually handmade from old automobile axles and tires. The trailers were a great improvement since they were taller and the barn crews could handle the leaves without bending down so far. The burlap side curtains were still employed as a convenient way to handle the leaves at the barn, but some had solid wood sides that folded down.

The tractor pulls into the first truck row and the primers get ready to face the field. The leaves are wet with dew from the previous night, and although the air is warm, the wet leaves slap you in the face and as you pick the first leaves off the stalk and stick them under your other arm. A wet bunch of cool leaves suddenly soaks your shirt to the skin and you feel that cold leaf almost instantly. It's not long before you are wet from top to bottom. Some boys would pull barefooted, but I always wore shoes because nothing hurts worse than stepping on a Brier in the bottom of a row with a wet, tender foot. Each week, about 3-4 leaves per stalk would be ready to be picked. Good primers could tell which leaves were ripe, and which ones would be ready next week. It's not desirable to cure green tobacco. A younger kid usually drove the tractor in the field keeping it in first gear and riding the clutch all day, keeping the trailer within range of the primers in each row. It was imperative to keep the trailer within reach of the primers so they didn't waste steps trying to catch up or backtracking to reach the trailer, and this is how most of us boys learned to drive cars. If the tractor got too far ahead, it wasn't unusual for someone to hurl a clod of dirt at the driver's head to get his attention. All four primers had to move at the same speed and if one dropped behind, his partner would help him catch up by pulling his row back to him. Like an army platoon, everyone depended on each other to keep up and do their job. The field crew consisted of four primers and a driver. Usually the farmer's oldest son led the crew and kept things going like clockwork. The trailer usually would be half full when we reached the other end of the row, and by the time it reached the end we began on, it would be full. Often the kid driving the tractor couldn't make the turn at the end of a row, and one of the primers would jump up and do it for him. It was a tight turn, but the Super A tractor had a left and right wheel brake enabling it to literally turn on a dime. It was sometimes tricky to turn into a new truck row without running over a few plants. Sometimes the rows would be so long only one set of rows would fit into a trailer. Other times, like Jimmy Mizelle's back patch; had rows so long the trailer was full half way down the row. I hated that patch of tobacco. I mean, I really hated it! An empty trailer would be waiting either in the next truck row if the farmer had two Super A tractors, or be detached from a bigger two row tractor most farmers had, and the full trailer would be unhitched and connected to the trucking tractor for delivery to the barn, and the empty trailer would be connected and pulled into the next set of rows and the primers would start filling it up. Often, a farmer would borrow a neighbor's tractor so he could have two going to prevent having to unhitch and hitch up the trailers for the trip to the barn, but that was not always an option and a full trailer of tobacco is pretty heavy on the tongue when changing to another tractor. Quite a few fingers have been pinched during the process, not to mention the strain on one's back holding the tongue while the pin was put in.

The farmer himself usually trucked the tobacco to the barn so he was able to communicate with the field crews on how things were going, whether to lighten up or pick more leaves, and bring back messages to the barn crew. Usually the fields were fairly close to the barns, although it was often a quarter mile or so between them. Later years it became increasingly necessary to truck the tobacco a few miles down the paved roads, as farmers expanded and began tending the local widow's land.

 The first delivery to the barn

Elizabeth, Darlene and Jackie hand to Vergie tying the sticks

By the time the first trailer of tobacco reached the barns, the ladies were ready to prepare it for hanging in the barn. Some tobacco barn shelters were built before tractors were used and didn't have enough clearance for the tractor to pull under them. It wasn't unusual to remove the muffler and the driver lean way over to pull under the shelter. Typically, two or three handers on each side would hand bundles of three to four leaves to the wrapper who skillfully tied the bundles to sticks held by a wrapping horse. Care was taken to ensure no broken stems would be tied to the sticks as it could fall out during the curing process and burn the barn down. The ground would often be covered at their feet in 2-3" pieces of broken stems and tobacco worms. Properly tying the leaves was usually entrusted to the most experienced ladies at the barn. A wrapping horse was a jig that the farmer usually built that held the sticks in place with guides to position it horizontally with a "V" groove on each end to hold the sticks. A tobacco stick was usually about 55"  long and was split by hand by the farmer, or his father. It was usually smoothed out by years of use, but splinters were a common hazard to deal with. 50 sticks were counted and bundled together with wire so the farmer could keep count of how many sticks were being used as he knew exactly how many sticks could be hung in the barn. He could tell the field crew to lighten up or remove more leaves as the day progressed. His goal was to fill the barn as full as possible, knowing if the sticks were hung too closely, it would not cure correctly near the top of the barn, and if he had too much to hang, he had to run down the road to see if another farmer might have room to hang his overflow in their barn.

First break of the day

Old Dr. Pepper clock advertising 10,2, and 4

At 10:00 AM, the crews get their first break. The old Dr. Pepper commercials aptly stated it was good at 10, 2, and 4. And 10 AM was pop time. The farmer often sent the drinks and nabs to the field in the next empty trailer and the barn crews would take a similar break. I usually shunned very sweet drinks likr Dr. Pepper working in the heat for a snack, but some enjoyed the occasional moon pie and 16 ounce RC Cola. The salty nabs though, were the ideal snack to replace salts you loose sweating in the fields. I do remember one particularly hot summer when several primers had to go to the hospital due to losing too much salt and potassium from sweating in the fields. Pop time is still a tradition enjoyed on the farm today.

Regardless of the name printed,
on the package, they are still called Nabs,
short for Nabisco snack crackers

Like clockwork, as the field crews send another trailer to the barn, an empty trailer is waiting to be filled. This cycle is repeated many times during the day, and barring any mechanical breakdowns, everything runs smoothly. The barn crew empties a trailer at the same speed the field crew fills the next one, so neither end is left waiting for the other. Most farmers had three trailers in rotation just in case one side out paced the other. As the Sun reaches high overhead, the decision is made by the farmer or his son to break for lunch.

Now, back in the day, lunch wasn't a little deal. The farmer's wife would have been cooking all morning, a feast that would rival any holiday gathering. And each would have a specialty we couldn't get enough of. Naturally, there was every kind of fresh vegetable cooked and laid out on the table for the field crews to eat first. Looking back, I don't think it was so much a superiority of the males that allowed them go first over the ladies at the barn, but more a matter of timing. The field crew had to stay ahead of the barn crew in order to keep the flow going. I will always remember Mrs. Lucy Hoggard's vegetable soup and bar-be-que chicken and Grandma Delcie Mizelle's collards, cornbread dumplings and biscuits with molasses. Mrs Bert Mizelle, Hattie Mae Mizelle, Pearl Jernigan and Mrs. Mattie Jernigan totally put out a feast fit for kings at midday. There's no way I could eat that much today and go back into a hot field! Sometime in the mid seventies, that huge meal disappeared and we'd be taken to the local store in Elm Grove to get our lunch. Although it wasn't a modern deli, they did sell slices of bread, luncheon meat and gave condiments so you could assemble your own sandwich. You could go with the staple pork and beans, beans and franks, or potted meat and crackers. Certainly not the gourmet meals of yesterday, but filling.

Neal and Johnnie hang tobacco, my Mom is in the background

In the heat of the afternoon, we made it across the entire field. The only thing left would be to hang the sticks of tobacco in the barn. Each barn was unique in many ways, but all were designed basically the same. Poles reached from side to side spaced evenly to the top of the barn. These poles were called tier poles. Each pole was a tier in the barn, and the area between the next section of poles was called a room. At the top of the barn were the wind beams. The oldest primer usually climbed near the top, and another primer was stationed below him facing each other. Having a direct knowledge of how many sticks were used, the farmer instructs the hanger how many sticks to hang on the wind beam, and then on the next tier down. A stick of tobacco was removed from the pile after it was wrapped, and handed to one of the ladies which handed it to the next person in a "bucket brigade" to pass the sticks into the barn. A person then hoisted the stick into the air to the bottom hanger, which in turn hoisted it up to the top hanger who hung it on a set of tier poles. He'd hang the top, then next tier, then down as far as he could reach and move back to hang the next series of sticks. All this being accomplished while balancing between tier poles with no hands!

Once the top of the barn is filled, they move down and repeat the process until the entire barn is full. The sticks that are hung at the bottom come from the bottom of the pile. Still dripping with moisture from the morning dew causes a mini rain shower inside the barn. When all the sticks have been hung, the workers are paid for the day and go home, but the job is just getting started for the farmer. As a kid, I never understood the term "flue cured tobacco", because few barns had flues or chimneys in my day. Most were equipped with oil burners you had to dodge while hanging the sticks, with pipes running around the edge of the barn, but the chimneys of the wood fired barn was a thing of the past. Now in my elder years, I can see that in fact the entire barn was the flue. The doors would remain open as the leaves began to dry off and humidity levels in the barn reached a certain point. Few farmers had any way to tell what that was except by instinct. They just knew when it was ready to fire up the burners. Curing tobacco is a fairly slow process and can't be rushed. The goal is not to dry out the leaves, but to cure them to perfection. When the burners are first lit, the temperature in the barn rises to about 90 degrees, and the heat rises to the top of the barn and is vented out. This natural air flow creates a draft and pulls the heat evenly through the barn. When the farmer senses conditions in the barn are right, he increases the temperature to 130 degrees or so. At just the right point, heat is removed and the barn cools off and is ready in about 5 days or so.

Taking out a barn

When the humidity levels are right, and the tobacco has come in order, the farmer decides it's time to empty the barn to get it ready for the next week's priming. The term "in order" has always been a little ambiguous to me, but basically you want the cured leaf to be a golden yellow, supple to the touch and not dry like a leaf in the yard in Winter, and the stems small and dried. Taking out a barn is a lot easier than putting it in and we didn't have to start quite as early, although you still wanted to beat the heat. The sticks of tobacco have transformed to produce a pleasant smell I can still remember today. It's like walking into the tobacco humidor at JR along an Interstate to smell the aroma of fine cigars and tobacco products. It's nothing like the stench of a modern day cigarette. The sticks of tobacco weigh far less and are usually taken off the tier poles two at a time and handed out and piled on a truck bed to be taken to the pack house and usually stored in the upstairs loft until it's time to grade and process the leaves for market.

I remember vividly breaking the string, and pulling the cured leaves off the stick, reversing the process the ladies had done to tie them on. They came off quite easily to the left, then to the right and then breaking the string again about half way down, repeating the process. By the end of the day there would be a huge pile of string on the floor to play with, especially tied in a loop and run between the fingers to form a teapot, a ship or other imaginary string art.

Baskets were imprinted with the warehouse
 name and numbered so it was known who owned
 the leafs in that pile

Each leaf was examined and placed between sticks on a grading bench. The best leaves were separated from the lower quality leaves and were bundled together and secured with a leaf around the stems forming a baby doll looking bundle. When it was ready for market, a burlap bag would be laid on a warehouse basket and the tobacco bundles were placed in a pile. This was the first time us kids were encouraged to press and pack the tobacco tightly on the basket. The bags were tied up and it was ready to ship to market. Some farmers would haul a pickup truck loaded to market, and some would pay a neighbor that had a big truck to haul it to market. Grover Jernigan in Askewville had a huge truck, and would arrange a pick up with the neighborhood farmers and haul their baskets at the same time for a fee. Today you see these baskets hanging on walls of homes and restaurants as decorations.

The big event

Nothing done in Washington, DC can come close to the stimulus to the local economy than the opening of the tobacco market. Every business in town depended on the farmers having a good sale. Buyers for all the big tobacco companies come into town to bid on the leaves the farmers have on the floor. The best grade leaves receive the top bids and this is the first income the farmer has for the year. Everything he has spent from buying seeds, fertilizer, gas and labor to get the crop in, came out of his pocket from money he earned last year. The banks are holding out their hands for payment of any loans he has, color televisions, new cars and trucks are purchased, and the whole economy booms for several weeks as cash flow turns to black instead of red on the farmer's books.While I don't remember any parades as such, there was an endless line of trucks delivering baskets of tobacco both day and night. The market opening was a huge deal back in the day. Most warehouses are now gone having been destroyed by fire or just progress. Smaller markets like Ahoskie and Windsor no longer exists and tobacco has to be hauled even further to bigger towns for selling like Wilson or Greenville.

Last trailer of the season with leaves still on a few stalks

It was truly the money crop for many years, but that time is over and all we have are memories of "the good ole days". Now don't get this twisted. Even though it was hard work, we had fun doing it and took pride in doing a good job. There were lighter moments and a few pranks during the season, but it was all in good humor and nothing violent. A few stalks of tobacco in the last trailer just made it a bit more festive!





Pictures courtesy Vicki Davidson, Russell Mizelle, and NCSU archives