Labor Day for Farmers
By: Jarrod E. Stephens
As one ages, it is quite amazing how that our understanding of some of life’s activities and opportunities changes. A rural upbringing has a way of shaping the way you understand life and go about using your “days off.” For a kid who grew up on a tobacco farm, Labor Day was never a day that you looked forward to. Labor Day lived up to its name and usually proved to be one of most laborious days of the year.
The Labor Day holiday itself was the brainchild of 19th century workers and labor organizations that wanted recognition for their achievements and hard work. Cities and states began to adopt the idea of setting aside a day to honor worker, but it took longer for national recognition. On June 28, 1894, President Grover Cleveland signed a law to set aside the first Tuesday each September as Labor Day.
Even before the spring frosts subsided each year, tobacco farmers were busy preparing tobacco plant beds for the upcoming growing season. There’s no doubt in my mind that my dad had precisely calculated the days of the growing season so that our crop could be housed, brought into the barn, on Labor Day weekend.
The plant beds were carefully tended until late May whenever we’d set the plants in the field where they would grow under our watchful care. Despite the hot days of summer, the tobacco plants would vigorously grow. We’d chop out the weeds, side dress it with ammonium nitrate to give it a boost of growth and watch patiently as the once tiny plants grew. By August, our plants would be nearing their maximum height and usually around the second week of August the blooms would emerge. That was our signal to remove the blooms and spray the tobacco so that it would turn a golden color and to maximize growth.
That final three-week window of growth landed our cutting time the week before Labor Day weekend. Perfect planning. Again, kids who grew up on a tobacco farm probably never saw any sort of festivities on that coveted long weekend. I know that my brother and me cut a lot of tobacco on that week preceding Labor Day because dad wanted the plants to wilt and cure for several days so that it was easier to handle and not brittle. Each evening, we cut until dark or until we had finished what dad had instructed us to cut.
The Friday of the Labor Day weekend typically consisted of getting the wagons and tractor ready for the start of the fun which began bright and early on Saturday. Since the morning dews are heavy in September, the sticks full of tobacco were soaked but not brittle which created the perfect time to handle it.
The old Massey Ferguson would come to life in a cloud of blue diesel smoke, and we’d get on the wagons and jostle to the field. Flannel shirts were the all the rage. Not only did it keep you warm during the cool hours, but it also protected you from the stickiness of the tobacco and the little aphids that crawled on it. Depending on the day, the sleeves sometimes didn’t last long.
Stick after stick we’d load the wagons and whenever they were full, we’d take them into the barn where it would be unloaded stick after stick. The tobacco was hung in the tops of our barns and to get it there you had to have several willing helpers with strong backs. Each stick of tobacco had between five and six stalks of tobacco on it and sometimes it was a chore to handle.
Sometime around noon mom would bring us our picnic, if that’s what you want to call it. A sandwich, oatmeal cream pie and Kool-Aid. Then, it was back to work. That process of emptying the fields and filling our barns lasted all Saturday, but on Sunday we rested. Thank you, God for Sunday.
Early Monday morning, as all the other kids were preparing for parades and fun, the farm kid prepared for a carbon copy of Saturday. It was tough but awesome too. We’d start early in the morning before the leaves dried out on the tobacco and load the wagons stick by stick. Wagon after wagon was filled with tobacco and then we’d take the wagonloads to our barns where it would be hung to cure. Sounds like a simple task until you have actually experienced it.
I was a grown man before I realized that Labor Day was created to honor the working man with a day off. Imagine that a day off. Parades and picnics are everywhere each Labor Day. The only parades that I saw on Labor Day as a kid was the parade of wagons loaded down with tobacco.
Looking back, I wouldn’t change that experience if I could. Those were the days that I worked shoulder to shoulder with the people who matter the most to me. My mom, dad, brother and sisters had our hands in the same work for the same reason. We were working as a family to provide for our needs. Farmers usually don’t get rich from their labors, but they usually don’t starve to death either.
I’m grateful for my upbringing. I’m grateful for the work ethic instilled by my parents. I’m thankful for our Sunday day of rest. And yes, I’m thankful for the American working class who so long ago helped to create a day of rest for the working man. I just guess the American farmers didn’t get the memo.
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