Arts & Culture

The Story of Tobacco Barns in North Carolina

  • By Susan Kelly
  • Photography by Jay Sinclair

Tobacco barns once numbered a half million and were fixtures on farms across the state. Today, only about 50,000 still stand, vestiges of the tobacco industry, deteriorating reminders of the leaves’ influence on our culture.


Editor’s note: This story originally appeared in the August 2013 issue.

One Christmas, my Stokes County grandfather gave me two shares of R. J. Reynolds stock as a gift. I’d rather have had a Mattel Vac-U-Form. But then, four times a year, a check for $2.80 arrived with my name on it, for which I hadn’t had to feed the dog or pull weeds. Tobacco sent me free money.

I knew tobacco. On family car trips, we sang out the names of the crops we passed. Corn was the easiest, of course, and the most prevalent. Massed and low-growing dullards such as soybeans were a disappointment. But oh, tobacco, with its dramatically changing appearance: deep green in the summer with symmetrical broad, fleshy leaves; then crowned with yellow-white heads; and finally stripped and plucked in fall, with pathetically naked stalks. From the backseat I’d vainly try to fix my eyes upon a single row before it blurred and vanished, swallowed into its whole. In the middle of this vast nowhere stood a lone wooden structure — tall, gabled, unpainted, windowless, weathered, and as instantly recognizable as the crop itself: the tobacco barn.


In the 1950s, half a million tobacco barns in North Carolina dotted their tobacco belts: Old Bright Belt, Middle Belt, Border Belt, New Bright Belt, and Burley Belt. Most barns were tall, plain, 20-feet-by-20-feet square buildings built of hewn logs and mortar, or sawn timber reinforced with tin. Or, “whatever the dollar would buy to get the job done,” says Bill Monk, an 86-year-old retired tobacco executive whose family business, A. C. Monk & Company, in Farmville, processed tobacco. Its evolution from family-owned to Monk-Austin to DIMON to its current incarnation as Alliance One mirrors the history of North Carolina tobacco, from family acreage to industrialized crop.

“Here in North Carolina, most tobacco barns were far and away for flue-cured tobacco,” Monk says. Flue-cured tobacco gets its name from the drying process: outside the barn, a narrow, inverted U-shaped furnace about two feet across and three feet high was fed pine logs to generate smoke. Furnace types varied depending on where the barn was located. “In the Piedmont,” Monk says, “the furnace would be built of stones. But here in the flat land, that raw material wasn’t readily available. Our furnaces were brick.”

Drawn by the chimney, indirect heat was distributed throughout the barn via ductwork that crisscrossed the dirt floor. Huge, hinged shutters on the sides or roof were opened and closed with ropes and pulleys to regulate the temperature within the barn. In just a few days, a leaf can lose 80 percent of its weight; in the first two weeks of the curing process, an acre of hanging tobacco sheds nearly five tons of water.


When my children were in elementary school, they were duly indoctrinated regarding the evils of smoking. Righteous and confident, they chastised their grandmother, a smoker. Smoking is unhealthy — agreed. But no North Carolinian should be unaware of tobacco’s importance to our state’s history, culture, and economics; tobacco was the golden leaf that built cities and universities and sustained thousands upon thousands of Tar Heel families. A wee bit indignant, I took their education in hand, and we embarked on a literal field trip east to Pitt County, where family in the tobacco business arranged for us to visit working fields, inspect a migrant picker’s quarters, attend a tobacco auction, and watch enormous computerized processors gently remove less-than-perfect leaves from a conveyor belt.

We crossed a barren field, trudging through furrows — once wide enough to accommodate a mule’s plodding walk as it carried a long wooden “reservoir” to hold plucked leaves — to reach an abandoned tobacco barn. Barn locations may look random, but in fact were carefully considered for efficiency, namely proximity to human labor and mule-drawn carts when the “cropping,” or harvesting, was underway. The aroma of tobacco still clung to the barn’s interior, a scent at once acrid and comforting, deeply masculine, and of the earth. Amid dust motes lit by the daylight that slanted through chinks in the walls, I tried to paint a picture: of workers, often women, standing in the open-air tying shed adjacent to the barn, pulling cotton twine from a spool to skillfully string the three aligned stems, or “hands,” of leaves to a one-inch- square, six-foot-long tobacco stick. Workers loaded the sticks on a V-shaped structure, then passed it person to person inside the barn, where someone straddled a network of parallel, horizontal rafters, or “tiers,” strategically placed so the sticks would fit between them. Hence the tall, narrow shape of the barn. One by one, the laden sticks were positioned across the tiers, leaf stems tied to the stick, leaf tips pointing downward. “Whole families were involved, including children,” Monk says, eager to indicate not only the time-consuming, labor-intensive effort of harvesting tobacco, but also the camaraderie and fellowship. When the barn was full, loaded from the ceiling to the floor, the furnace was stoked with pine logs that had been cut from elsewhere on the farm during the winter in preparation for this season. Later, fuel oil was burned in heaters inside the barns, and still later, propane. “Fire was a perpetual threat,” Monk adds. “Smoke, ashes, and cinders were present round the clock. While often built close together, the barns were deliberately located far enough apart to reduce the risk of fire.” Monk remembers well the frequent wail of sirens during curing season when these wooden barns were in constant use.

Like a chef, each farmer had his own recipe, or regimen, for curing, or “cooking off,” the moisture. “Curing is a science, an art,” Monk says, “and a good tobacco farmer would learn all the tricks to produce the finest tobacco. He wanted his tobacco to be more sought-after than his neighbor’s, and therefore get a higher price.” During the three stages of curing, about six days total, temperatures in the barn would climb steadily upward, from 120 degrees to 135 to 160, finally topping out at 180 degrees — and in the hottest part of the summer. Mercury thermometers hung in the barn and outside it, as well. Every day, touch and appearance of the hanging leaves dictated the grower’s decision as to the interior temperature. Rain, or days with high humidity, slowed the curing, and the farmer would adjust the controlled temperatures accordingly. The leaves must be dry, but still pliable; too brittle and they would shatter.

At the end of the drying process, the sticks were brought down one by one from the tiers, just as they’d gone in, untied, and loaded onto carts to be hauled to the pack house — perhaps an unused home or building on the farm — to await sale at auction. The tobacco barns would stand empty and unused — and unlovely — until the next season. Or until bulk curing and mechanization eventually rendered them obsolete. Monk says slowly, “International clients would come to visit us, to view the process, and I remember so well driving around the area. It was a sad thing to ride through the tobacco belt and see these dilapidated, deteriorating barns in the fields. The mule barns were obsolete as well, and the tying sheds. It was shameful, those sights. Yet I understood. Why would a farmer take down a barn that he had no use for anymore? That money could be better spent elsewhere.”

Could they not be utilized in some other way? I wonder, picturing myself as a Southern E. B. White, who wrote Charlotte’s Web in a bare-bones barn overlooking his farm on the Maine coast. Monk is skeptical. “Some became storage areas, perhaps for lumber. But on a large farm, you might have a dozen tobacco barns, just too many to use, even for storage. And as far as anything else, well, they’re essentially flimsy structures, with little insulation.”

O Pioneers! author Willa Cather knew a little something about standing alone in a wide stretch of land. She wrote, “I like trees because they seem more resigned to the way they have to live than other things do.” She might have included our tobacco barns in her admiration. Overgrown with kudzu, adorned with metal signs advertising Pennzoil or Esso or Nehi soda, the barns are, in essence, melancholy structures, as out of fashion as tobacco itself. One imagines them as the backdrop in a Southern Gothic tale of Flannery O’Connor’s. Lonely structures, yet possessed of an elegiac beauty, tobacco barns stand in testament to a bygone way of North Carolina life for generations. In time, they will disappear: sag, collapse, and vanish altogether. Today, a generous estimate puts the number of North Carolina tobacco barns still standing at 50,000.


In the 1960s, my mother-in-law, who would become a fierce preservationist, moved a defunct tobacco barn across a country road and onto Harnett County family property still known simply as The Farm. The barn was retrofitted with windows, baseboard heat, and a crude staircase leading to a furnished loft under the high roof, perfect for a nap or a good book. Outside, the barn’s weathered elegance is unchanged, nearly matching the gray-brown tree trunks and pine needles in which it sits near the Upper Little River. Within, its walls have seen rowdy wedding barbecues and solitary weekend getaways, children’s birthday parties where plaster-of-Paris deer tracks hardened in milk carton molds, and flannel-shirted, fried-turkey Thanksgivings as redolent with fireplace woodsmoke as it once was with drying tobacco leaves. The barn’s prosaic yet timeless architecture is a silent witness not only to history and labor, but also to laughter and love. Long may they stand.

Reviving History

Many of the estimated 50,000 tobacco barns that remain in North Carolina stand decrepit among unused tobacco fields, remnants of the tobacco empire that built much of the state. But some barns are being reclaimed, and along with other relics of the tobacco-making process, they’re finding new life at the hands of craftspeople.

Broadleaf Timber & Masonry Reclaiming
(336) 264-8457
The Burlington-based company relocates, restores, and rebuilds rundown tobacco barns.

The Old Wood Co.
99 Riverside Drive
Asheville, N.C. 28801
(866) 967-9663
Woodworkers, blacksmiths, and furniture makers at The Old Wood Co. reclaim materials from dilapidated barns to create the environmentally friendly tables, stools, and chairs sold in its Old Wood Market Place.

Carolina Walking Sticks
Salvaged hardwood sticks that once were used to dry tobacco from barn rafters are transformed into staffs for hikers. Like barns, each walking stick tells a distinct story more than half a century in the making.

— Jonathan Black & Leslie Ann Blake


Duke Homestead State Historic Site
2828 Duke Homestead Road
Durham, N.C. 27705
(919) 477-5498
Homestead of Washington Duke, founder of what would become the American Tobacco Company.

Iredell Brown House Tobacco Farm Life Museum
U.S. Highway 301 North
Kenly, N.C. 27542
(919) 284-3431.
Commemorates life on small tobacco farms in eastern North Carolina in the early 20th century.

Northeast Park
3421 Northeast Park Drive
Gibsonville, N.C. 27249
The 374-acre park includes a restored wood-burning flue-cure barn located in the park’s Gerringer-King Farm Complex.

Susan Stafford Kelly

About Susan Stafford Kelly

Kelly is a contributing editor at Our State. She is the author of By Accident and the novels Now You Know, The Last of Something, Even Now, and How Close We Come, winner of the Carolina Novel Award and an alternate selection of Book-of-the-Month Club. She graduated from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and lives in Greensboro.
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31 Responses to The Story of Tobacco Barns in North Carolina

  1. Rhonda B says:

    My Grandfather raised tobacco. It was before my time, so I didn’t get to experience this era of my family’s history. The tobacco barn and the pack house still stand on the property and this story just brought them to life in my mind. I can just imagine my dad and his brothers in the rafters hanging the tobacco sticks (which are still being used today for other things). Thanks for a wonderful story and a glimpse into the past.

  2. Linda Wyatt says:

    My sister and I worked tobacco in Jacksonville ,NC during the summers on our neighbors farm in the early sixties. I tied the tobacco on the sticks. I can remember in my mind exactly how to do it. I was pretty fast at it. We were so glad when the owner would come driving up in his truck with pepsi colas and nabs. We suckered the tobacco on Saturdays, which was a very dirty job. The teenage boys would gather up big green juicy tobacco worms and put them down the pipe of the tractor so when they started it up they would fly out into the air. Those long, hard, hot days were some of the best days of my life.

  3. I have moved and restored two log tobacco barns and one log sweet potato barn from the Garrett farm in Durham to our mountain place near Sylva, NC. The first two have been made into cabins (not as high as the tobacco barns, since the bottom layers were rotten), one a workshop and the other a camping cabin with a pot-bellied stove and all. Both have lofts. The third (sweet potato barn) was numbered by the piece, moved, and is nearly finished being restored exactly as it was, fireplace and all, since it was the last log sweet potato curing facility in NC (according to the Sweet Potato Association). It is cedar lined and still has the original thermometers. They can all be seen on our website.

  4. I lived in Greenville, NC/Pitt County but worked the fields in Robersonville, NC/Martin County. I grew up working in the fields in the early to mid-70’s. We were in the fields just after the crack of dawn and worked until the late afternoon in the heat of the summer. I started at the shed “handing” the tobacco to the “loopers”, which had been “broke” (Martin) or “primed” (Pitt) from the stalks and loaded into the “trucks” (carts), which were pulled behind a small tractor. As I grew older, I “trucked” the tobacco down the long rows until the “trucks” were filled by the “breakers” (Martin) or “primers” (Pitt) and “trucked” the trucks to the shed. They broke the leaves off the stalks, often 3, 4 or 5 leaves at a time. The “sand lugs” (bottom-most leaves on the stalks “broke” at the first round of harvesting) were the worst. Those leaves were wet, gummy, and FULL of sand/dirt. Sometimes, sticks of tobacco were hung directly into the barn as they were looped. Mostly, the “handers” had to put the completed looped sticks of tobacco into the sheltered “racks”, which were located between the 2 barns. Barns were usually located in groups of 2 with this storage area between them. The sandlugs was nasty work. The very worst part of the whole job was standing on the bottom tier and handing the sticks up, 2 at a time, up to the person on the top tiers as all that water, gum and sand/dirt constantly dripped down on you while you were filling up the barn! I liked the bottom tiers except during when we were hanging the sandlugs. The upper tiers were just too, too, too hot late in the afternoon when the whole crew moved the tobacco from the racks. Usually, those who broke the tobacco who were the biggest and strongest males did the hanging. As I got older though and was “trucking” the tobacco, the “breakers” were happy to let me help with the hanging. Wages back in the day, a hander may be paid $12.50-$15/day; truckers $15-17.50/day; loopers $20-22.50/day; breakers $25-$35/day. For a teenaged boy, it was good pay. For the adults, it was still decent pay for an uneducated workforce for those who did seasonal work. Pay was often determined by the area in which you worked. I understand Pitt County workers were often paid more than those in Martin County where the larger farms were often larger and had more work. It could’ve been just the small farmer I worked for, i.e. my uncle who did it on the aside as he owned a small country store in a small town. The comarderie was wonderful and the bickering amongst the youth around the barns was good training for getting along in the workplace later in life. There was nothing like a 16 ounce RC Cola and Honey Bun (for the breakers) and 12 oz. Pepsi/Coca Cola or Nehi with Nabs for the barn help and truckers during the morning and afternoon breaks. We worked hard and burned a LOT of calories during those Hot, HOt, HOT summers days in July and August. I lived it and consider it some of the best times of my life, no matter how difficult it was.

  5. I loved your article! I grew up on a tobacco farm in Greene County and “put in tobacco” every summer until I graduated from college. About 20 years ago, I began making items out of tobacco sticks. During the Christmas season some of the items can be found at The North Carolina Museum of History gift shop in Raleigh. At other times they can be found at our store, Sticks and More, in Snow Hill, NC.

  6. d.o.southern says:

    i was born and raised on a tobacoo farm in stokes county. i can vividly recall sleeping
    at the tobacco barn while dad was curing the tobacco.those were the days, which will
    no longer be available. change sometimes is not the best solution. d.o.

  7. Gretchen says:

    Great article! My brother and father make grilling and bar tools using reclaimed tobacco sticks from Eastern North Carolina. Always interesting to read about some of the history behind it!

  8. Dustin P says:

    Growing up in Oregon, old deteriorating, beautiful, often abandoned barns were everywhere although they had a different purpose. I now live in NC, brought here for work and my neighborhood is built on an old tobacco farm. The only sign it was once a farm where the two tobacco barns spaced just enough apart that if one burned the other wouldn’t. One day they began tearing the barns down to make room for one last house. That evening I took my truck and loaded it up with as much wood as I could. That wood is beautiful and it scares me to think about how they probably threw it in a landfill. It all should have been reclaimed. I have built a beautiful mantle over my fireplace with it. I hope it will be a selling point when work takes me away from NC and I’m sure it will the the last evidence that this house stands on an old tobacco field…

    • Andrew J. Hill says:

      I was born April 1930. Grew up on a farm in eastern NC. One barn was made of cypress. Our house was built in the early 20’s or earlier. The barn was made of boards 12″ or wider on the inside @ narrorwer on the outside. Beautiful.
      Was burned down 2 or 3 years ago. The house was mostly pine. Typical 4 room with porch on front and back. Heat was wood fireplace, wood heater. Coal, oil, then propane gas. It was pushed down, whole dug, and it was buried. It had running water. No. Not the modern kind. A pump with a frame around it. We pumped a bucket full and ran to the kitchen. Thanks for the memories. We looped tobacco in Lenoir County.

    • Alex says:

      I wouldn’t despair entirely about the fate of that wood. I know in the past a lot of it got bought by home builders and furniture manufacturers. A lot of those barns were made from heart pine which is now considered a very high-end and sought after wood and is especially beautiful when used for flooring.

  9. Ann F Beach says:

    I grew up in Greenville, NC. I was a “city girl” but my dad was a tobacco buyer and knew all of the tobacco farmers. Many summers, I made money by “working in tobacco”. First, handing, then as I got faster, tying. Then helping fill the barn, But only the strong boys and men climbed up in the rafter to hang a barn or take out tobacco. The worst days were when we “topped and suckered”- if you ever did it you know what that was. Hot, in the sun, pores clogged up by tobacco gum. I remember making $7.50 a barn, more on topping and suckering days. Hard work. But I learned to value of getting up early to get the work done before the sun got too hot. And I learned the value of money; how long it takes to earn it and how fast you can spend it. Lessons that have stood me in good stead.
    I remember how cool the dirt floor of a shady barn was on a hot day.
    I remember telling my Dad how bad tobacco was for him after we studied smoking in Health class. I remember his answer- “Honey, tobacco put food in your mouth and clothes on your back”. Prevailing attitude in the 60’s.

    • Every year, from 10 years-old until I graduated from high-school, I worked with various tobacco farmers. When I was 16 or 17 years-old, I worked for my Mom’s first cousin and so did a male cousin who was my age. I explained to our boss (Mom’s cousin) that it was easier to be on the bottom tier and swing the tobacco stick up to the person in the top tier than it was to pass the tobacco stick from the ground up to the bottom tier because it was so heavy; so to please let me (the female) be in the tier polls instead of my male cousin. I won and he was mad at me for a long time. I also took out cured tobacco from the top tier polls and passed it down to the bottom tier poll person. That was scary to me.

  10. Joy Freeman says:

    In Surry County, NC, we called the “v-shaped structure” a “buck”. My Kentucky in-laws often ask me about the planting, pulling, curing process of Bright Leaf tobacco that my Grandpa grew. They are more familiar with Burley tobacco. Thanks for the walk down memory lane – I want to go back to that old farm and see if any of the barns are still standing!

  11. Curtis says:

    I enjoyed your article. The ‘V’ shaped structure was called a looping horse.

  12. Ken Anderson says:

    I grew up in Sampson County in a small town by the name of Garland. I can still vividly remember all the years of working in the tobacco fields and “hanging up” at the end of the day in those hot tobacco barns. I still remember how we kids went through the process of poking up those heavy sticks of green tobacco to the person hanging the lower tier poles and thinking one day I’ll be big enough to get up on those tier poles and hang out each room in the barn. Well, as I grew, my chance arrived! First the lower tier poles, then finally the upper levels and the “crows nest.” Believe me straddling those poles all day was NOT all that I imagine when I was younger. Hanging out a couple of barns a day was hard work, but the one advantage was being in out of the hot sun, and not out in the fields in the humidity and heat. Each time I come home to North Carolina, I stop at a tobacco barn that still stands near my old home place, and I pause for a time, just to reflect back on those days and remember the good times! As with our old tobacco barns, we will never see those days again.

    • J Ashworth says:

      Where was this picture taken>

      • R Turpin says:

        The picture in the community of Shoals, North Carolina. Near Pilot mountain
        I grew up in this community and spent many years helping my family and neighbors harvest and cure tobacco. My Dad literally took one of these barns apart piece by piece and moved it to behind our house and we used it for years. Sadly it was destroyed by fire a few years and I was not able to salvage or restore it.

  13. Tommy Haynes says:

    My relatives has a tobacco farm in western NC.Because I was tall, , I always ended up hanging the tobacco sticks in the barn. The worst part was near the end when you had no room to move and could no longer escape the dew dripping off the leaves.

  14. Wanda Brooks says:

    My husband relocated two tobacco barns from Guilford County to Stanly County. They were placed side by side with an enclosed dog trot between. We now have a wonderful retreat cabin used for family and friend gatherings and quilting/ sewing retreats, as well as a guest house. It is a beautiful, peaceful place. We are thankful that we were able to save these barns.

    • Nannie says:

      Thank you Mrs. Brooks for saving NC history. My grandchildren probably will not know about this due to our ‘No Smoking’ health agenda now!

  15. I remember when we traveled from Cleveland, Ohio to Florida for summer vacations as a family to my aunt’s house to Bradenton, Florida. In 1961, there were no major freeways and highways like there are today. We traveled in a 1955 Ford that dad owned and it didn’t have air conditioning. We even stopped roadside to have a picnic for our lunches and snacks. They were packed in a cooler brought from home. We would buy melons, that were fresh picked and being delivered to the larger cities for resale at the larger markets. We would buy them right from the truck drivers. All along the way we would be traveling alongside these big trucks with tied down black tarps carrying the tobacco from the Carolinas, Tennessee, and Kentucky down into Georgia. All along the way we would see the tobacco barns. Many were open-air barns, with the tobacco hanging in the hot summer. The roofs of these barns had advertisements on them of “Mail Pouch Tobacco”.
    In those days, we, as kids would count them along our travels as a game to pass the time away. Often we would see the migrant workers still harvesting the tobacco in the growing fields. They were often in a hurry to beat the storms and rains to harvest. Those are the memories that I have from my growing up high school years, as a teenager with younger siblings. This is what we had for entertainment and our playing and pass times were of made up games or doing our summer reading for school. I and my class just celebrated our 50th Class Reunion, last July 2013. Class of 1963 at Mayfield High School. It was a great success and we have had a reunion every five years. I am so happy and glad for our reunions with my other classmates. We shared many of our old childhood memories like this also. That is what this article reminded me of today, as I was reading it. My thoughts and memories just wandered. Thanks, for the opportunity to share.

  16. Here at Pilot Mountain Christmas we have two old Tobacco Barns that we use to store Christmas Decorations in. The barns were falling down. My Husband and myself restored the barns so we could use them for our Christmas Decorations. My Dad, Mom and eight Brothers and Sisters grew up on this Tobacco Farm. I am very lucky to still be living here and we now have Pilot Mountain Christmas here. Lots of child hood memories.

  17. deb parker says:

    i was raised on a tobacco farm and enjoyed it very much.. i miss the old barns.. daddy always said when the last of us graduated he was gonna quit raising tobacco and thats what he did.. my fovorite memory is chasing one of my older sisters around the tobacco sleds with a tobacco sled with a tobacco worm.. now that was funny,,

  18. D. Kew says:

    My husband and I stayed in a restored tobacco barn in the pilot mountain area. Was a lovely weekend! I would love to go back and stay again! They had moved and restored several of them and did a really nice job. I wish I could remember the name of the place.

    • The cabins are Pilot Knob Inn Bed & Breakfast in Pilot Mountain, NC
      We are so glad you enjoyed your stay & would Love to have you visit us again!

      • Bill & Janet Lennartz says:

        Jennifer, we enjoyed our stay there in 2010. Although we chose to stay in The Castle Room, you allowed us to view the restored barns during our stay. They were amazing, as was everything about your inn. I HIGHLY recommend it!

  19. Joy Parks Farland says:

    What a lovely article. I have always thought tobacco barns were lovely and wish we could keep them all.

  20. Penny Monk Page says:

    The author couldn’t have picked a better person to interview; I love you Uncle Bill!

  21. Great article ! My father and I have salvaged logs from old tobacco barns to build cabins since 1980 . Our State’s Tarheel People section featured a story about my work; ‘ The Log Whisperer’ in the Feb.09 issue .

  22. To learn more about the architectural heritage of tobacco barns in North Carolina, please check out the North Carolina State Historic Preservation Office’s “Celebrate Tobacco Barns” website, developed by architectural historian Michael Southern and available at Thanks!

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