By Jack McCall

I’ve seen some beautiful sights in my time. Many of them take me back to my formative years – a set of mama cows with their calves out in lush spring pasture, rows of square bales of hay lined up across a hay field, dark green corn fields in full tassel and a patch of tobacco, yellow as a pumpkin, ready to be cut.

Across the Miles
Jack McCall

And I have always considered a tobacco leaf a beautiful thing. Maybe it is because tobacco played such a major role in the early years of my life. Tobacco put food on our table, clothes on our backs and a roof over our heads. Tobacco made it possible for my brothers, my sister and me to attend college.

I learned how to work hard in a tobacco patch. And I learned about perseverance there – you finished the job even if you were exhausted, and you came back the next day whether you felt like it or not. Raising a crop of tobacco is where my father taught me to take pride in the quality of my work. To me, a tobacco leaf is a beautiful thing.

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