March of Time

A long time has past since the Pennsyltucky Gardener posted about his experiment. The final result: I obtained some smokable tobacco through the least sophisticated technique imaginable: putting leaves in a plastic bag and letting them rot in the sun, then drying those leaves out and smoking them. The smoke was strong and -- as a non-smoker -- a bit overwhelming, but it all seemed to work. I was shocked that the process actually worked.

The more sophisticated attempt to create a fermenter with an insulated box and a heating pad did not work: I could not sustain the proper heat and humidity for the appropriate length of time, and so I just got dried out leaves. But I may refresh these -- they are still in a dry spot -- with some water and then put them into the sun to rot.

I have since moved to Madison, Wisconsin, which is even colder than Pittsburgh, but I'm told they grow tobacco here too. Next summer I will be trying the experiment again, so expect more posts once I get things going.

Fermenting

We are now in the middle of winter, and many of the dried leaves that were on the porch have been sluiced by hard winds. They should have come inside much earlier, but there hasn't really been a place for them. In any event, it's time to take the promising looking leaves -- those that have no green left -- and bundle them in cheesecloth after a soaking in a special "fermenting solution." The solution contains sugar and citric acid, and is designed to aid in the creation of bacteria that will ferment the leaves a they are heated to around 110 degrees F in a humid environment (75% humidity). Some of my books mentioned putting differing kinds of sticky stuff on the leaves -- treacle, molasses, syrup, but that didn't sound very appealing. I did put some bourbon in the mix, which made the leaves smell terrific.

So after pulling apart the two-by-two dried leaves and spraying them down with this mixture, I placed the bundles into the fermenter and closed the top. The fermenter is an old styrofoam cooler and looks like an ark. It has a humidifying device in the bottom, a crude rack (made of coat hanger wire) to hold the leaves above it, and a thermostat that controls the heating pad that it sits on. The process is supposed to take three weeks, so I if I'm lucky, I'll have something to share with my guests at Christmas.

Cut 'em all down...

We've just started to dip below the 70s in what must be an unusually long growing season. I cut down all of the remaining plants just below the lowest leaf, split the stem, and have hung the plants on poles upside down to dry. All that is left is a single plant, I don't know exactly what kind, that is sitting on the front porch and threatening to bloom, so perhaps I'll have a picture of a tobacco flower to post in a little while.

Seeing all the plants hanging up to dry is a beautiful sight. I'm getting more and more interest in the final product, and by the end of the weekend should have a rudimentary fermenting chamber made out of plywood and duct lining. The next decision will be what to "case" the dried leaves in -- casing being a liquid that begins the fermenting process. I read in my handy guide that brandy or treacle are a good bet, but somehow neither sounds very appealing, particularly treacle. I'm not sure you can even buy treacle in Western Pennsylvania.

It seems like I should go to the annex to see how the other bunch of leaves is drying, so that's on the agenda for the weekend too. The question is how warm it really needs to be to dry the leaves. We are in the sixties now, but there is still a healthy breeze, which tends to accellerate the drying process. I'm going to continue to use the back porch for as long as I can. As soon as you open the backdoor and walk out to the yard, you can smell the drying leaves. Let's hope things don't cool down too quickly so that I can keep the experiment going out back.

Pennsyltucky Annex

Who said you can't find good barn space in Pittsburgh? This week I found a fellow botanical adventurer who was willing to donate 5000 feet of commercial space -- on one of our bustling city thoroughfares! -- for the purposes of drying the latest priming of Kentucky hybrid leaves. As you can see, the cast iron posts in this open second floor space are perfect for stringing hanging wire. Unlike the leaves on the back porch, which you can see in the second photo and third photos (look in the background), these will be treated to warm air that still collects in this open, sunny room. Looking at the picture now, I'm thinking this is more of an art installation than a drying operation, but perhaps it's both.

Speaking of outdoor temperatures, our long hot summer has finally come to an end. As late as Tuesday we were still in the 80s with substantial humidity, which was why I had put off further priming until Wednesday, when the temperature began to drop. The Post-Gazette this morning ran another article about climate change, this one pointing out the increasing humidity in the Northeast. Pittsburgh, in particular, has been a degree higher on average this year, and five degrees higher on average if you count from the beginning of September. We will have to wait for the local weather gurus to pronounce on the trend, however, since the study the article quotes is a national one, appearing today in the journal Nature.

I've added a picture of some of the lonely survivors from the last priming. With the weather in the 50s today, it's about time that I cut the rest of the plants and strung up the remaining leaves. This will probably happen over the weekend, a job to compete with the raking of all the leaves that have finally fallen to the ground.

Leaf change

Fall seems almost to have arrived, although we are still getting days of full sun with temperatures breaking into the low 80s. The leaves that have been hanging on the back porch have finally become a dark brown, which has forced me to decide whether or not to go ahead and ferment them. I figure I've gone this far, so why not try to make an end product and see if anyone wants to try it. (The mailman has made a request, having admired the large plants that he passes on the way to the mailbox every day.) I'm adopting the idea that Pennsyltucky tobacco cannot be bought or sold, but must ultimately be a gift from the gardener offered -- in ancient North American fashion -- to friends. Of course, smoking is bad for you, so I will be offering it in a clay pipe and encouraging anyone who tries it not to inhale (in good Clintonian fashion).


You can see that the leaves are developing a dappled yellow pattern that is particularly pronounced in those that have a limited amount of soil. I can only surmise that this means they are nearing ripeness. As the leaves become more pale green and yellow, I prime them from the bottom, wash them in dish soap to remove the aphids, and then hang them up to dry or cure on the back porch. The next step is to put them in an enclosed, humid environment, to which end I will be building a fermenting chamber out of plywood. A heating pad will provide the extended heat, and temperature control will be accomplished with a thermostat. Humidity must also be regulated, as it would be in a humidor.

Now all I have to do is clear out a space in the basement where I won't create too much trouble. Pittburgh has many basement privies, which once served workers who needed to shower and get cleaned up before tracking industrial grade soot into the house proper. I think there's room here in my basement for a sub-industrial fermenting operation. Slowly, each floor of the house is taken over by my hobby....

Aging, Second priming

I have to say, as an experiment this has been really interesting, but I'd hate to actually be waiting on the tobacco because I needed to smoke. The process of taking care of the plants, curing (see above) and then fermenting is fairly complicated; I haven't even built the fermenting chamber, and am having to decide whether or not I'm really committed to seeing the end product. Since I don't smoke (except the occasional cigar), it's really just curiosity that makes me want to see the end product. Perhaps it's because this is only a hobby/experiment that I'm able to put up with it.

But I don't want to give the impression that this isn't fun. It is. I did the second major priming last night, which meant harvesting the leaves that are now dappled yellow and drooping at the bottoms of the plants. Unlike the last time around, I did find a tacky substance on my hands at the end of the process. I also found out that a friend of mine, Vernon, has had a lot of experience harvesting and hanging tobacco, so I'm going to call him this week to try to get some tips. As I've said before (I think), I don't really know what I'm doing.

The paper this morning (Pittsburgh Post Gazette) had an interesting article from the Washington Post about the changes in harvest times for grapes grown in Alsace in Northern France. Apparently the strict planting codes that are enforced in France have made it the idea place to study the effects of climate change. No national headlines yet about tobacco being grown in Pittsburgh. I can only wait.

First priming

The time has finally come to take off some of the leaves and hang them up to dry. Priming, as it is called, is a way of pulling off the ripening leaves from the bottom of the plant so the ones on the top continue to grow. Leaves are ripe when they are jade green and a little mottled, rather than the deep green that you see at the top of the plant. While all of the leaves of my plant were not completely ripe -- the Cuban leaves were still quite green when I took them -- they were generally large and downward bending, which is another sign that they are getting along.

Last night I read a story about a guy who grew tobacco in his backyard in New Jersey, and in his experience of first priming, he describes a sticky resin developing at the ends of the leaves when they are twisted off the stalk. This really didn't happen with my plants -- perhaps we aren't as fertile as New Jersey? or they're not ripe enough? -- but at some point you have to make a decision, so yesterday was the day for me.

I did my best to keep the plants sorted by type, since the Kentucky leaves -- by far the majority -- are really no good for cigar-making, which is something I plan to try. You can see the leaves strung out on picture wire in the yard, looking a bit like a string of fish, and then the final hang on the back porch. This is no Kentucky curing barn, and I may have to install some plastic sheeting to ensure that the leaves do not become moist when it rains. (And it is fixing to storm this afternoon.) But this corner of the porch seems relatively cool and doesn't get direct sun at any point, so I'm hoping the leaves will eventually begin to cure in the porch rafters.

In other news, I've learned from several friends about new growing regions around the states -- news to me, but perhaps not to anyone who knows anything about agriculture. On a trip to Chicago, a friend told me that his parents used to have some friends who grew tobacco in Wisconsin. Another friend told me about the fields in Lancaster, PA, which I should probably go visit at some point. Finally, a historian friend gave me a copy of Fortune magazine from the 1930s with an amazing story about the "business end" of RJ Reynold's tobacco operation in Richmond, VA. The story and pictures are amazing, and as you might expect from a publication from the 1930s, culturally retrograde in every imaginable way. I will see if I can get the large pages scanned and post some of the more incredible images, particularly those of African American workers sorting the leaves and working the curing and fermenting process.