This past week I was able to participate in the Picture Kentucky Workshop for my second time! The whole experience showed me how much I love journalism and being able to share stories in my Kentucky home. Special thanks to David Stephenson and the University of Kentucky College of Communication and Information for this amazing experience. Here are some photos and a short story about the Stevens brothers:
Driving through the small Kentucky town of Lawrenceburg, a barn full of hanging tobacco draws the eye up a half-mile driveway. There, you’ll find the Stevens brothers working tirelessly, whether that's repairing tractors or completing their daily harvest.
Larry, Forrest, Rickey and Brent Stevens, four out of six brothers, all stand around a harvesting combine. They share stories from their childhood as they try to fix up the machine before garnering acres of grains.
Rickey puffs on a cigarette and yells, “Come on, goofball,” to his nephew Lucas Stevens, as he works under the thousand-pound combine that harvests grains such as corn, wheat and soybeans.
Apart from the brotherly teasing, they are dedicated to each other and a passed-down estate.
A family-wide effort to keep the last tobacco farm in Anderson County running is a labor of love their father started in the 70s.
“I’ve done this since I was old enough to walk,” the oldest brother Larry said. “Dad grew us up on farming so it’s all we’ve ever known.”
The brothers spent their childhood farming everything from cucumbers to cattle. Tobacco was something every family used to grow in the county but now, it’s a rare crop in Anderson.
“A lot of people don’t do it anymore,” Forrest said. “It takes long because we have to use a machete and cut it down one by one.”
While Forrest said harvesting grains is easier than tobacco, he doesn't think they’ll ever be able to stop the legacy of farming the special crop.
“It’s how we were able to live,” Forrest explained. “The tobacco money put all of our kids through school.”
The brothers said they agree that the price you receive from a bale of tobacco now isn’t worth the hard work to some people. But for them, it’s a way of bonding.
After losing the second oldest brother to cancer earlier in the year, it brought a reminder that connecting as a family is crucial.
“At 74, you start to realize what’s important to you. For me, it’s those people right there,” Larry said as he pointed toward his brothers.