Reporter Finds Tobacco Farming Tough

Source from:  Click-2-Listen By Justin Boulmay Rocky Mount Telegram Sunday, September 02, 09/03/2007

I've never been a smoker, but on Tuesday I got more tobacco than I ever dreamed. I went to a local tobacco farm with the intention of doing more than listening to a farmer describe a typical day in the field, however interesting that description might be. I wanted to, in whatever degree possible, experience the work. My day began at 7 a.m. off South Halifax Road on a farm that is owned by Sammy Tant. Tant's father established the farm in 1968. Tant returned to farming in 1976 following several years in the U.S. Army. He has done this ever since. When I arrvied, Tant explained some of the basics of tobacco farming and took me on a sales trip in Wilson County. In the afternoon, I got what I had been looking for: firsthand understanding of farm life. The road to the harvest began in January. During that time, Tant and the farmers decided on which seeds to plant, based on which characteristics they wanted in the crop, such as the size of the leaves. These differences did not affect the taste of the product, he told me. After that, the workers prepared the soil, sprayed fumigants and herbicide and made ready the equipment that soon will be used in the field. The tobacco seeds were planted in a greenhouse in February. By the time the plants are taken out to the field, they should be 5 to 6 inches tall, Tant said. They are expected to be at least 48 inches tall with at least 18 leaves each by the time for harvest in August, he said. More than 100 acres of his farmland were set aside for tobacco. Tant and his crew finished planting May 10 and started to plow the field and apply liquid fertilizer to it, Tant said. On June 3, they received 1.5 inches of rain, according to what he had jotted down in his calendar that day. "I wrote under it, 'Great,'" he said. In July, the weather started to get dry. Tant told me tobacco plants have longer root systems, which enables them to retain moisture; the downside is the roots might grow to where diseases lurk in the soil. The roots might not have grown that way if the weather had not been dry, Tant said. "It's a survivor," he said. The dry weather also meant some of the tobacco leaves stood upright and did not fall like they should have, said James Batten, who works as the farm manager for Tant. The leaves' position made it harder for them to prime the plants, he said. Tant said they primed the plants four times, which means they extracted only a few leaves with each pulling. The leaves were put into a container the workers will store in a curing barn for at least nine days - which is slightly longer than normal because of the heat. During that time, the starches in the tobacco will change, and the exterior of the leaves will transform from green to a golden pigment. Tant's workers were supposed to put a new batch of tobacco leaves into the curing barns that day. I was going to help. Until this assignment, I was fairly ignorant of how farmers grow tobacco except for some dire predictions from people who knew I was going to do this: I was in for a rough day. When I arrived at Tant's farm, I asked some of the workers for their advice on doing the work. John Pippin, who does maintenance work around the farm, told me to drink plenty of water. "I drink anywhere from about two to four 20 oz. bottles of Gatorade a day, and probably five or six big bottles of water," he said. "I have one drink a day, and that's on the way home - Mountain Dew, whatever." Marvin Manning, 54, has worked on Tant's farm for 17 years. He told me it's an easy job, contradicting much of what I had heard. "Easy work?" I asked. "You always hear it's back-breaking work." "Yeah, you got that right," he responded. "It's hard work." I laughed and asked: "So how is it easy, then?" "It's easy for me now," he said. It seems to be easier for most people because machines have assumed much of the hard labor, Tant said. His comments during a later interview further illustrated that point. Tant's farm is able to produce 9,000 pounds of marketable tobacco each day, and there are seven migrant workers - not including full-timers like Manning and Patten - who work those fields, he said. The amount of tobacco they collect can fill three curing barns. "Twenty years ago and 30 years ago, to do that much tobacco, it would probably take 30 to 40 people ... and it would be a lot more back-breaking because it would be a lot more hands-on," Tant said. I worked with two migrant workers to unload tobacco from a tractor and onto the loading machine, a large piece of equipment with a conveyor belt that's used to pour the leaves into empty containers for the curing barns. If a leaf fell off the belt, Tant told me to pick it up and return it to the pile. At first, I hesitated to do so since the leaves had gotten dirty on the ground, but later I reminded myself - with a little embarrassment - of where they had come from to begin with. We spent more time than anything else making sure the leaves were distributed equally on the belt. The distribution levels are important for the curing process because it allows the air in the barn to flow among the leaves evenly. If too much hot air stays in one spot, it can burn the leaves; too little airflow can prevent them from changing color. The three of us were successful in this, although there were a couple of times I overcompensated in how much tobacco I put on the belt, resulting in the three of us working to pull some of it back. There's also a propeller at the top of the belt that flings parts of large piles back down, which meant we were sometimes working with leaves flying in our faces. During one of those moments, the workers looked at each other and exchanged comments. I speak very little Spanish, but I'm pretty sure "loco" - "crazy," in English - was one of the words they used. When the leaves are in the containers for the barns, several metal rods have to be stuck in the bundle. The rods keep the leaves in place during the curing process, and they have to be inserted a certain way to work properly. I tried this once, got confused as to how which rod went in which way and instead went back to unloading tobacco to the loading machine. When it is full, a container is turned upright, standing on four wheels. The workers rolled the container to whichever barn it's assigned to, push it in and close the door. And then they wait. After the tobacco dries and is removed from a curing barn, it's packaged into a 750-pound, square-shaped bundle called a bale. I went with Tant that morning to sell some of his bales, which were made up of tobacco from his first pullin', the first leaves to be harvested from the field. We drove to the Philip Morris receiving station in Wilson County, where Tant hoped to exchange his stock for a profit. There are four inspection sites in the warehouse, which has enough room for trucks to pull in with their cargo. A conveyor belt moves the square-shaped bales through sensors on either side, and the level of moisture is displayed on a digital readout. Tant told me the best range for moisture levels is between 16 percent and 18 percent. Sometimes you can tell which farmers have driven the farther distance because they've brought bigger loads with them, Tant said. He has the luxury of taking less with him because he's closer to the receiving center. Daphne Rhodes, a Rocky Mount farmer whose son operates the land, was before us in the inspection line. "You have Mother Nature working with you, you'll do good," she said. Kim Cure, a grader for Philip Morris, said he looks at the stalk position of the loads, their color and ripeness. He also said the tobacco he has seen has looked well, considering the drought. "I'm pleasantly surprised," he said. "This area tobacco's been pretty good. It's sort of been under stressful conditions all year; it's a decent crop of tobacco." Our trip took about an hour. We left for Tant's barn - where work awaited me - emptied of the tobacco that had taken months to produce. I see the appeal in farming. As Batten said, you don't get to do the same thing every day, and like Tant, I enjoyed spending time outdoors instead of under a fluorescent light. I drove away having learned more about tobacco than I ever thought I would, including the lesson that this is not a one-man job. Enditem