Mountain Midwife

                I’ve just finished reading a book written by Karen Cecil Smith entitled Orlean Puckett:  The Life of a Mountain Midwife (Parkway Publishers, Boone, NC, 2003).  While it’s not a new book and therefore wouldn’t need a review, the information was so relevant to my research on rural, historical medical care that I thought I’d share some of my impressions from the book.

This is essentially a biography of Mrs. Puckett who lived in the Virginia Mountains from 1844 until 1939.  As I learn about and reflect upon the history of the Cumberland Plateau, the stories of our past are so familiar to me that the hardships don’t often overwhelm me.  But the depiction of life in those rural mountain communities seems so much more severe than our own region.  Certainly they were even more remote and isolated.  Their farms were rockier and steeper and their weather more severe. 

Mrs. Puckett lived through the Civil War and her husband was a Confederate soldier for a while.  He and a lot of other mountain-borne soldiers opted to check out of the war early.  We know that the young man’s dream of gallantry and excitement is quickly burst in battle.  These men returned to care for families that struggled to survive in the best of times; The War, however, brought some of the worst of times as marauding troops robbed them of the little food they had and searched tirelessly for deserters. 

Mrs. Orlean Puckett

1844 - 1939

When she was 45 years old, Mrs. Puckett began midwifing out of necessity.  There were few doctors and none that lived out in the most remote parts of the mountains.  When she first started attending births, it was 1889 and everyone was traveling by foot, horse or buggy so calling a doctor from town was a very slow process.  But Aunt Orlean as she was known to her whole community was right there among them and she knew well the mountain paths.  So she would arrive very shortly after being called no matter what hour of the night or in what extreme weather conditions.  Doesn’t it always seem that babies come at the most inopportune time that way?

She was very well respected in her own and all of the surrounding communities.  Because of this, she was often called upon for medical issues beyond childbirth.  She knew mountain herbs that would ease the pain of joints swollen from arthritis; and yes she knew the medicinal value of whisky.  Aunt Orlean carried a satchel like a doctor’s bag and a standard item in it was always peach brandy.  I can’t quite imagine the use of alcohol in childbirth but I’ve certainly watched enough westerns and Civil War movies to appreciate its value before surgery when no anesthetic was available as would have been the case in most rural situations. 

The mountain people also had a fair amount of superstition and Mrs. Puckett was among them.   She put a knife under a laboring woman’s pillow to cut the pain and unlocked every door in the house to provide an easier delivery. 

So once again I find myself contrasting modern medicine with yesteryear.  While I’m certainly partial to anesthetic and pain control, there is also something very comforting in the idea of a local healer.  To have someone at your side who you’ve known most of your life and who cares for you as a person and not just a patient seems like a wonderful idea, don’t you think?

If you have memories or family stories about the local healers, please share them with us.  Just click “comments” below.  Also, please be sure to click “Like” if you enjoyed the story – thanks so much!

Mountain Medicine

Chamberlain Memorial Hospital, Rockwood, TN

I’ve been learning about health care on the Plateau from a historical perspective and it’s very humbling!  Today, we take for granted the excellent medical care we can reach in a 30 mile radius.  Drive a bit further to Nashville, Knoxville or Chattanooga and you’ll be in world-class medical facilities.  But how feasible was a drive to Nashville in 1930?  What about 1910 or before?  Not until 1917 was a hospital built within any reasonable driving distance of the Plateau communities.  In that year, Chamberlain Memorial Hospital was erected in Rockwood – a nearly 50 mile drive from Clarkrange.  That same year, Dr. May Cravath Wharton arrived with her husband in Pleasant Hill and realizing the community’s great need for a doctor began seeing patients in their homes.  By 1921 Dr. Wharton had opened a tiny 2-bed clinic, in Pleasant Hill, which she shortly expanded to 30 beds.  That clinic is the origin of The Cumberland Medical Center.   A 15-bed clinic also opened in Cookeville in 1921.  But Pleasant Hill and Cookeville were still 30 and 25 mile drives, respectively.  There was always the question of transportation; I know some seriously injured miners were put on the train in Wilder and sent to Rockwood’s hospital

So, what was the solution of these hardy mountain-folk of yesteryear?  Self-sufficiency reigned supreme.  There have always been gifted ‘healers’ in our communities.  From midwives to herbalists, these were people who were willing to use their gifts to serve their neighbors.  Admittedly, the death rates were high but they were high in the best of hospitals in that day.  Remember that we didn’t really understand antiseptics and the extreme importance of sterile conditions until the end of the 19th century.  Think of how many women died following childbirth, how many soldiers died or lost limbs from relatively minor wounds simply because germs were introduced to their bodies by unsanitary conditions. 

For many years, it was almost safer to take care of all but the most serious injuries and illnesses at home.  As the Consumption (Tuberculosis) epidemic raged, mothers and wives knew they were powerless against that genteel killer, but they were also sure they could care for their loved ones better than any stranger could.

Now I’m in favor of good medical care – I’ve certainly availed myself of skilled doctors and will do so again when needed.  Still, I hold an incredible respect for these healers of old that steadfastly loved their brother and cared for their neighbor in need.  We can learn much from them.  A number of books have been written on some of these folks and I think we should visit some of those books. 

In the meantime, I’d love to hear any stories you have of people who were taken to those distant hospitals, how they got there, any details of the trip and the care.  Just click “Comments” below.

The Mechanical Pickers: Part 4 of The Green Bean Phenomenon

                For twenty years the people of the Cumberland Plateau had spent long summer days bent over bush bean plants. Harvesting the snap bean crop was a wonderful source of income for people with little other prospects of income as well as mothers and children who simply enjoyed having something extra. 

                The farmers had progressed from walking behind mules to riding tractors.  Their crops had grown from Mr. Cooper’s single acre of beans in 1933 to fields over thirty acres.  Selling the crop had moved from daily auctions after carrying your beans into the bean shed to cannery representatives coming directly to the field to load the harvest.

                Now, progress marched onto the Cumberland Plateau in the form of mechanical pickers. These great yellow beasts swarmed onto hill and hollow.  As they moved along paths that recently hosted hooved transport, the machines seemed like they would burst the seams as they brushed against trees lining the lanes leading into fields. 

                These mechanical bean pickers were such a foreign idea that the people doubted they could ever succeed.  Surely they would destroy the entire crop!  Maybe they would just maul the fragile little beans!  No one wanted to miss the show.  As the drivers mounted their machines and engaged chains and pulleys, a great roar surrounded the onlookers.  The first picker rolled over the vines that had been so tenderly cared for all through the spring, leaving in its wake merely a green sprig devoid of fruit or leaves.  Delicate green leaves blew out the side as the picker cast them off as waste.  Standing on the rear platform a man had sacks awaiting the harvest.  And it only took a moment for the giant spout to start dropping beans; then the sacker knew his work was cut out for him.  He would have to work fast to keep up with the great machine which would not tire as the hours and acres rolled past.

                Quicker than anyone could imagine, rows were stripped bare.  Soon the pickers had covered a full acre.  The average five acre field that had required 40 hand-pickers and an entire day to harvest fell to a pair of the new machines in just five hours.  Platforms stacked with loaded sacks would be offloaded at the end of the field for the farmer to reload into the truck. 

                Even as loaded trucks pulled out of the fields, some onlookers were still skeptical.  But the pickers kept running and for the next 20 years they would be a fixture on the plateau every summer.  The models would change as improvements were made.  The sackers job would give way to great hoppers that would dump the crop directly into waiting trucks.  The size of the fields would grow and the number of mechanical pickers would continue to increase. 

                 In the coming years, as lines of the great yellow beasts rumbled down local roads they would become a welcome sight that signaled another successful crop.

First Diesel Truck 'Round Here: Part 3 of The Green Bean Phenomenon

                Big diesel engines have an allure to little boys.  It’s a fact science cannot explain.  Lifelong drivers have told me ‘diesel gets in your blood’.

                As the bean crop poured into the bean sheds, they had to be transported to the canneries in East Tennessee, West Tennessee and Southern Kentucky.  While some of the early beans were delivered to the bean shed in wagons, everything left on trucks for that final leg of the journey.  Trucks had been coming and going from the bean shed for several years when one sultry summer evening there was produce left unsold.

                Not wanting anyone to lose-out on all of their hard work, someone suggested Guy Beaty might buy them if they could only reach him.  Thankfully, the telephone was in place and Mr. Beaty promised to send his trucks to pick up the beans.

Young Rube & Fritz Beaty

                Rube and Fritz Beaty were driving for their cousin and were leaving Jamestown with only partially loaded trucks.  They headed south as the workers anxiously awaited them at the bean shed.  In the quiet of the muggy evening, the rumble of those big trucks could be heard a mile away.  About a half-mile out, the pitch changed as Rube and Fritz started backing off the engine. 

                Hearts raced as the trucks covered the last few yards – men because their work was about to be rewarded and boys because they were about to see the source of that exciting noise.  The Beatys made their left-hand turn into the graveled parking lot, maneuvered a quick 180 degree turn and skillfully bumped the dock.  To the wide-eyed boys, it seemed magical.

                Today, our roads are crowded by shiny diesel rigs pulling long trailers, heavy equipment or pairs of smaller ‘pup’ trailers.  We still stare out our windows and marvel at their power.  But Rube and Fritz Beaty had rolled into the bean shed with the first diesel-powered trucks in the area.  It was the late 1950’s and it was still common to see mules working the fields of the Cumberland Plateau.  No one could imagine the transformation that transportation would see in the coming years.  That night, no one cared.  They were just thrilled to welcome the Beatys and their diesel-powered chariots saving the day – or at least the crop.

The Bean Shed: Part 2 of The Green Bean Phenomenon

                With just a little ambition (or hunger) it’s not too hard to come up with a profitable product or service – something you can do or make that other people might need, want or enjoy.  The challenge is marketing.  This is true today and it was surely true when snap beans began to sprout across the Cumberland Plateau. 

                There were people who wanted the beans, they just had to be matched up with the farmers who were growing them.  Thus, The Bean Shed was born.

                On the east side of Highway 127, just south of the Clarkrange Baptist Church, Harry Martin donated land for the bean shed.  Some folks were skeptical of the success but many more were thrilled by the opportunity to market their produce.  (I don’t have the year that the bean shed was built, but would welcome that information from any of our readers.  Please just click on “comments” below.)  Two other sheds would soon be built in Clarkrange and several others across the plateau.  Jamestown had sheds operated by the Crooks and Beaty families.  Mr. Maddox had a shed in Crossville. 

                From the end of June, everyday saw local growers filing into the bean shed with trucks loaded with bags of green beans.  There were even instances of people carrying a bag of beans in on their backs.  Months of hard work were about to be cashed in.  Buyers gathered, carefully inspecting the half-bushel sample of beans that each farmer displayed. Then, an auction was held and the highest bidder loaded his own truck with the sweet vegetable and headed out toward the canneries. 

                This place was all business.  While there were a small handful of folks who gathered just to see the excitement, mostly everyone was there with a mission.  For the children though, it was always a great adventure to make a trip to the bean shed.  Teaming with people, both neighbors and strangers, this beehive of activity felt like the fair and their day’s hard work was quickly forgotten as they watched it all.

                This economic center of the community was in operation until about 1961.  By then, the scale of production had outgrown the auction scheme of the bean shed and buyers were making their purchases directly from the farmers and loading them in the fields.  With the addition of tractors for planting and tilling, then the miracle of the mechanical picker, farmers that had been planting 5 – 20 acres were now counting acreage by the hundreds.  At this time, brokers began buying crops directly from the farmers and transporting them directly from field to cannery.

                I wonder if any of our readers ever remember visiting one of the bean sheds.  We’d all love to hear your account.  Just click on ‘comments’ below.