"Beyond the tobacco fields—where labor shaped
resilience and a father’s wisdom shaped a lifetime."
More than 50 years ago, I stepped into the tobacco
fields of the Connecticut River Valley, ready to work, unaware of the lessons
waiting for me. My father didn’t want me to love the job—he wanted me to learn
from it. And half a century later, his wisdom still shapes how I understand effort,
success, and perseverance.
A Rite of Passage in the Fields
Farm labor wasn’t just about earning money—it was about
stepping into a legacy carried for generations. My great-grandparents,
grandparents, and parents had all worked the tobacco fields. Now, it was my
turn.
Eager to begin, I asked my father if I could start the day
after my 14th birthday. He told me no.
Confused, I asked, “What if I don’t like it?”
His response carried more weight than I expected: "I don’t want you to like it, because I don’t want you to stay. I want
you to learn the value of a dollar. Let me know how you feel when you receive
your first paycheck."
That was when I understood—this wasn’t just about work. It
was about learning labor, resilience, and what it meant to truly earn
something. My father’s foresight guided me before I even realized I needed
it.
Back-Breaking Work Under the Tobacco Gauze
Before we reached the sheds, we worked in the fields, tying
each plant by hand—a relentless process of bending, standing, and moving row by
row.
Each bent, stretching between two poles, held 30
to 36 plants, each one needing to be tied. Sixty bents a day was the
minimum—but the real challenge wasn’t just meeting the quota. It was pushing
past it.
All of this was done under the suffocating heat of the
tobacco gauze. Instead of providing relief, the thin, protective covering trapped
the heat, pressing down like an extra weight. The air beneath it stood
still—no breeze, no movement—just the sweat, the dirt, and the relentless sun.
A Friendship Forged Through Labor
At first, I chased the fastest, trying to catch up—but I let
her go. Instead, I found someone just as relentless, someone who matched
my rhythm and endurance. Side by side, we pushed forward, never letting the
other fall behind.
And when we moved to the sheds, we became sewing partners,
our movements synchronized, our drive undiminished. The competition faded,
replaced by respect, trust, and a bond forged through labor and
understanding.
A Lesson That Has Lasted Over 50 Years
The fields are long behind us, the twisting machines silent,
but that connection never faded. More than 50 years later, the
friendship has lasted, proving that some lessons extend far beyond their
origins.
The work was hard, but what it gave us was greater than
any paycheck. It gave us something lasting, something real—a
work ethic that would last throughout the long years ahead as we at times struggled to put food on the table and pay for heating oil for the cold New England winters. A work ethic that has endured
through life itself.
My Father’s Wisdom, Five Decades Later
My father saw further than I did. He wasn’t teaching me how
to work tobacco—he was teaching me how to build a life beyond it.
Working tobacco was a test, but the real lesson wasn’t in the
tobacco rows and sheds. It was in the persistence, the endurance, the understanding
that success is earned. He wanted me to see that effort matters, time is
valuable, and wisdom stays with us long after the work is done.
His foresight didn’t just prepare me for the fields—it
prepared me for life.
Photo Credit: Austin Lee Pittman
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