Celtic Roots

Growing Tobacco -
Tobacco is related to garden vegetables, flowers, weeds, and poisonous herbs such as potatoes, tomatoes, eggplant, petunias, jimson wood, ground cherries, and nightshade. The family of plants is Solanaceae; the genus Nicotiana contains about 100 species, only two of which have been extensively cultivated. Nicotiana tabacam is used in cigarettes and tobacco and is the predominant type of crop tobacco.

Originally, Native Americans in the eastern United States grew Nicotiana rustica, which was the first form of tobacco introduced in England and Portugal. N. Tabacam, first introduced to the Spanish, was obtained from Mexico and South America. It has been the preferred tobacco since settlers in Jamestown, Virginia, began growing it.

Tobacco Hanging to Dry

Because planters believed that tobacco had to be grown on virgin soil, tobacco gradually made its way to the eastern part of what is now North Carolina. Consumer preferences for tobacco products changed decidedly from the early 1700's. Carl Linnaeus describes tobacco in this 1762 edition of Caroli Linnaei Species plantarum, exhibentes plantas rite cognitas, ad general relatas, cum differentiis specificis, nominibus trivialibus, synonymis selectis, locis natalibus, secundum system a sexuale digestas.

In 1839, bright leaf tobacco was discovered by a slave named Stephen (headman on the farm of Abisha Slade, a successful planter in Caswell County). Stephen fell asleep owing to the heat from the wood fires in the tobacco barn, and when he awoke the fire was almost out. He rushed to a charcoal pit and found some charred logs on the dying embers. He threw these on the fire, which created a sudden drying heat, which resulted in the brightest yellow tobacco ever seen.

The eighteenth century became the "Age of Snuff." Tobacco from North Carolina was used for snuff and pipe smoking, because the cigarette was not widely known outside of Spain. By the 1840's cigarettes had become popular with French women. Much to the chagrin of anti-tobacco societies, cigarettes caught on in the United States as well. Dr. Russell Thacher Trall, an anti- tobacco campaigner, said: "Some of the ladies of this refined and fashion-forming metropolis [New York] are aping the silly ways of some pseudo-accomplished foreigners, in smoking Tobacco through a weaker and more feminine article, which has been most delicately denominated cigarette. Despite such opposition to tobacco, the twentieth century saw a rise in its use."

Consumer demand established tobacco farming as an important part of North Carolina farm life. NC State, through its College of Agriculture and the Agricultural Extension program, researched tobacco and aided farmers around the world. Farmers received important information from NC State. Blue mold probably existed in the western United States for many years as a minor disease on wild species of tobacco. It came east in 1921 but disappeared for ten years before resurfacing in 1931. It is caused by a fungus that attacks tobacco.

Story Tellin'

Example: This Name's For You - by Beth Boswell Jacks
Check out Beth's Deep South Website under the Links Section

Here in the south of these United States, naming new babies often involves lots of climbing around in family trees. Take, for example, the progeny of Gerald, my husband, and Beth (that's me), also known as Bebe, both as southern as cornbread and turnip greens. Our eldest is named for her paternal grandfather and both grandmothers; number two daughter is named for me and my sister; number one son is named for his maternal grandfather and his father; the lap baby - our end of the line son - is named for his two uncles and his father. Did I leave anybody out? We are also able to cover a lot of familial territory with our affinity for double names here in Mississippi and parts close by. Names like Will Tom and James Edward and Mary Edith and Lucy Ann are commonly shortened to nicknames like “Rabbit” and “Cracker” and “Pumpkin” and “Pookie,” but everybody knows Lucy Ann, for example, was named for her venerable great-aunts -“Pookie” or no “Pookie.”

And in true southern fashion, if the need arises, we aren’t averse to stacking names even higher - Jefferson Davis Poindexter Bumpus III is a fictional example (I hope) of a good ole Dixieland moniker that comes ponderously to mind. String ‘em out and cover three or four family members, don’t you know. My personal call of bestowal came a couple of years ago. “Bebe, Bethany went to the doctor this morning and had a sonogram.” (This was my wonderful son-in-law Charles calling.) “Allll right!” I said. “Girl or boy?”

“Another boy.”

“Oh, that’s great. Wayne needs a brother. They’ll have so much fun together.”

“We’re naming her for you.”

“And you’ve got plenty of hand-me-down clothes, and . . .”

“Bebe, did you hear me? We’re naming her for you. I was just kidding--the baby’s a girl. We’ve discussed her name already. She’ll have your full name. Given name. Maiden name. The whole works.”

Can a heart burst with happiness? Does pride know boundaries? My devoted children were giving me a wonderful gift, and the honor was staggering. When I placed the phone back in its base, I flopped to the floor. Leaning against the bed, I sat with my eyes closed, trying to imagine what the years would bring for this little Beth. Would she play the piano like her Bebe? Would she string words together like trinkets, as I so love to do? More than likely not. She’ll probably be the athlete I always wished I could be, or the cook I’m not, or the president of the United States . . . or any and all of the above. One thing for certain, she’d have my name, but she’d build her own list of achievements and interests, which is exactly as it should be. Isn’t it confusing having people in the family with the same names? Not at all. Once you’re a grandfather or grandmother you acquire a new name - Granddaddy or Pop or Gran or Nana or something else equally charming. For family purposes and affectionate conversation, I’m just Bebe now. The only problem this nom d’honeur has caused in my life is the elevation of my meddling inclinations. When I see a young couple about to be parents, I want badly to pull them aside and whisper, “Y’all listen to me. Name that baby for your mamas!”

I wish I could tell these young folks that all the popular, fad names in the book could never give their child the sense of precious heritage that only a beloved family name can. And I’d tell them that for a grandparent, an aunt, an uncle, a special friend, there’s no more splendid laurel than to have a namesake. Beth Boswell Dowdy is a precious 2-year-old now. She crawls in my lap, gives me a kiss, and says, “Bebe . . . two Beths. You. Me.” And I melt. All of Beth’s life, you see, when I’m long gone and forgotten by almost everybody else, she’ll tell folks, “I was named for my maternal grandmother.” And there will probably be many more Beths in our family in the generations to come.

There’s something awfully comforting about that.

Huntin'