My First Day at Skipwith, Virginia (Cont.)
Screen 2 of 7I found out the following week that the principal's duties at Oaks School included opening the building each morning at seven-thirty, building wood fires in the two big heating stoves, seeing that the loosely constructed frame school house was kept warm, safe, and in good order. The official duties also required signing the school's monthly reports which had to be approved by the county school superintendent before either the primary teacher or I could be paid. All this in addition to teaching seven subjects (reading, writing, spelling, arithmetic, geography, history, and science) every school day in each of the intermediate grades, as well as organizing and directing some activities in music and art once or twice a week!
It was a slow, hot. and dusty walk to the Brame farm that morning, but there was certainly nothing dull about it and I enjoyed it. The sun was bright, the sky a clear light blue, spotted only by a few cumulus clouds lazily floating by. I saw several busy chipmunks and field mice scurrying across the road, as well as a few rabbits and squirrels here and there. Most interesting to me, however, were some black crows who seemed to be self-appointed sentinels monitoring my journey and reporting to other crows some distance away what was going on. I was later to learn how very smart crows really are.
I was in cigarette-tobacco country, and on that early September morning I was soon aware that the healthy tobacco plants growing on both sides of the road were about as tall as I was. A few weeks later they would be much taller, and their broad green leaves would one by one turn to a golden brown before being pulled off the stalk by hand. In this way, I was told, each leaf could be picked while still in the field when it is fully ripe, thus assuring top-quality tobacco for cigarettes. (Some thirty-three years later, the United States Surgeon General's report on the harmful effects of tobacco would certainly throw into question what is meant by "top-quality" cigarette tobacco, but in 1931. no one seemed to be concerned about such a question.)
The soil in that part of Virginia was sandy and very porous, apparently ideal for growing cigarette tobacco and sorghum cane. I saw very little corn or wheat. Neither was there much grass for grazing, hence few horses and cows. There were occasional groves of trees, mostly oak, maple and gum, but always at some distance from the road. It was obvious that earlier pioneers had cleared the more desirable land of all its trees, in order to raise crops. "New ground," it was called--rich and fertile but oftentimes left with scattered tree stumps which had not yet been pulled out.
The name, "Brame" on a mailbox near the road caught my eye after about a mile of walking. It was a welcome sight. I turned into the private lane leading up to the residence--a two-story white frame house, perhaps fifty to sixty years old, surrounded by several large oak and maple trees. An oasis, I thought, in the midst of miles and miles of Virginia sand.
As I drew nearer to the house, the tensions and questions raised by my earlier talk with Mr. Ellington began to subside. Everything here was quiet, peaceful, and inviting. Only the song of a nearby wood thrush broke the silence. Already I was beginning to hope I could live here.
My knock at the front door must have come as a surprise to those inside, for there was no immediate response. Later on I found out that mornings were not visiting time in rural Virginia. There were too many farm chores to do, I was told--for old and young alike. Those big enough worked in the fields at "man's work." Others did the washing, ironing, sewing, cooking, cleaning, gardening, tending to chickens, and chopping wood.
I knocked again, this time somewhat louder. After a moment, I heard an elderly woman's voice, thin and raspy, call out, "Somebody's at the front door, Daughter." She was apparently inside the house trying to get the attention of someone in the backyard.
"Lan'sakes," came a delayed and somewhat distant reply from another woman who seemed to be in the hen house which I could just see from the edge of the porch. "Who could that be, Mother Brame, at this time of day?" she asked.
After a brief silence, I could dimly hear the two women exchanging some muffled comments not intended for my ears. As I peered through the hooked screen door--the main door was standing slightly ajar--they came into a poorly lighted front hall, the elderly one slightly behind the other.
"Hello," I said, trying to be cheerful. "I'm the new teacher for Oaks School." There was an awkward silence for a moment, accompanied by expressions of apprehension on the women's faces, as they moved closer, seeking more light to have a better look at me. Again I was reminded of Mr. Ellington's reactions. Was I really that unimpressive? I wondered.
"My name is Chester Travelstead," I went on, "and I am looking for a place to stay--somewhere I can get room and board while I am teaching here this year."
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