KRecently I took s trip "around the battlefield" as Al Pachino said in "Scent of a Woman." My euphemism for "memory lane of where I grew up. " It was great, and I love to do it as a reminder of my roots.
An example: I asked someone about the tobacco scene in NC. No small farms anymore but large tobacco conglomerates. When I was growing up, every farmer of any size had a patch of tobacco. It was a cash crop. I was about 6-8 years old. Most all my four brothers were home. None of them wanted to go with Dad to take the tobacco to market. I would. It was a process. Before the market, the tobacco had been harvested, tied in neat bundles and then literally cooked (cured).
At the market, the tobacco would be put in these big round baskets. The buyers would come by and place a price on the tobacco. Often, it was a low price that put the farmer in a bad spot. If he sold his tobacco for less, all that work went for almost nothing. If, in a rare case, the tobacco went for a higher price, Dad would be so happy. There we were on an emotional roller coaster. Dad, now, I understand, found great comfort in my presence.
This is tobacco in the field.
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