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Virginia Honchell Jewell
- The University Press of Kentucky
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638 The Kentucky Anthology Virginia Honchell Jewell In the far western Kentucky county of Hickman, Virginia Honchell Jewell did an unusual profile of her adopted county—“a collection of historical sidelights,” she calls her book, Lick Skillet and Other Tales of Hickman County (1986). She graduated from Murray State University with a degree in journalism and has been a reporter, editor, and writer for the Hickman County Gazette and a stringer for the Paducah Sun Democrat and other regional papers. Here are two of her stories: a piece about growing marijuana for the government during World War II and a portrait of a storyteller from the Tarheel community. h “Growing Marijuana,” from Lick Skillet and Other Tales of Hickman County “We had no idea we were growing what is now known as marijuana,” Edna Humphreys stated in amazement. “But the government contracted with farmers all over the county to grow hempseed as part of the war effort.” That was in 1942; the nation had been catapulted into a worldwide conflict. The supply of Manila hemp for rope and cordage from the Philippines and jute from India was cut off because of war on the high seas. Kentucky was asked to produce 33,000 acres of hemp that year with the county allotted 800 of those acres. Kentucky had for many years been the chief hemp producing state in the nation as the Bluegrass region was particularly suited for the crop. Rope and bagging factories were early sources of employment as the state developed but it is believed the crop had never before been grown in Hickman County. The local agricultural board urged that farmers voluntarily sign hemp contracts but it was announced that if sufficient acreage was not contracted, the Department of Agriculture would demand it. In March of 1942 County Agent Baker Atterbury explained that seed saved during the 1942 statewide harvest season would plant a half-million acres for fiber the next year. He not only encouraged the growing of hempseed but also the production of soybeans and castor beans for oil to defeat the Axis powers. “We grew an acre or more and tended it by hand,” Mrs. Humphreys said. “It had to be kept clean much like corn. At harvest time when the seeds were ripe, we cut the plants and when dry enough we flailed them with sticks onto 638 Virginia Honchell Jewell 639 a huge sheet of muslin. There were strict rules about growing the crop and we were urged to save every seed. They resembled seed from the okra plant.” In October of that first growing year, farmers were cautioned not to thresh hemp too soon after it had been shocked as this resulted in the loss of a large number of seed. On November 5, the county agent was lamenting that “over 80% of the hemp shocks blew over last week in a storm.” Farmers were counseled to prop up the shocks to keep the seed from sprouting. Three-fourths of all the hemp produced that first crop year in the Purchase was grown in Hickman and Fulton Counties and the county’s allotment was almost doubled the next year. Edward Bugg, chief clerk with the Agricultural Adjustment Administration during that time, said the crop was strictly controlled and supervised. Farmers were required to have narcotic permits to grow the plants but no one ever suggested using it as a narcotic, he said. However, he added, it became apparent that hemp plants had a drugging effect. “Doves flocked to the fields where the plants were shocked and couldn’t be scared away with gunfire.” Mrs. Humphreys said a neighbor used plant stems to make a hog bed in his shed. Shortly afterward, he discovered his pigs were asleep and couldn’t be aroused. A veterinarian, called to the scene, recognized that the animals were on a “high.” After the pigs were dragged out into the fresh air and the stems disposed of, the animals rallied. “The Tarheel Philosopher,” from Lick Skillet and Other Tales of Hickman County Arthur Bugg, a delightful teller of tales and philosopher of Tarheel community , had a yarn for most every occasion. One dealt with the custom of driving buggies and wagons through ponds to swell the wooden wheels and spokes to keep them intact. His tale went this way: “One day Ole Man Jackson pulled up with his horse and buggy at the pond out here and asked if it was very miry. “‘No,’ I said. “‘Do...