but it was absolutely forbidden to do
this on Sunday. Should there be smoke
from a smouldering fire set the day
before, a man was quick to explain to
his Sunday company.
Another consideration was the pos¬
sibility of spreading the fire. Trenches
were dug around the brush pile and
Father would stay w ith the fire, some¬
times far into the night, or as long as it
burned high, sending showers of hiss¬
ing sparks into the darkened sky.
Stumps
The trees felled, the underbrush cut
and burned, now came the back¬
breaking work, getting rid of the
stumps. There were few choices. A
man could dig and grub around them,
cutting loose the roots deep down in
the soil. Then he hitched his mules or
horses to the stubborn clump of wood
and strived to yank them from their
chosen spot.
If this method failed, the stump
could be split and splintered as much
as possible, doused with kerosene and
set afire. Depending upon the type of
wood and how much it had dried out
since being cut. the stump would or
would not burn low enough to be
plowed over.
The way which gave the most cer¬
tain results was with the use of dyna¬
mite. Usually a charge of three to
seven sticks, depending on the size of
the slump, was sufficient to break
away the grasping roots and send the
pieces Hying after the cry of "Fire in
the hole!"
Some people, wary of explosives,
preferred to leave the stumps standing,
to be avoided by the plow until they
rotted away naturally.
A most rewarding aspect of clearing
newground was to see a field of new-
ground corn waving tall and green in
the wind, or cows grazing contentedly
on smooth pasture which had once
been nigged woods.
Now. in the North Carolina moun¬
tains. with tourism increasing rapidly,
it is out of the ordinary to see land
being cleared for farming. Instead,
acreage w hich once offered abundant
yields of cabbage, beans, and corn, is
growing into jungles of locust trees and
green briar.
And. if some land docs need clear¬
ing. it is not accomplished by the sweat
of sturdy men. Instead, trees and all
beneath, including the rich, black top¬
soil which has been building for hun¬
dreds of years, is swept away by a
great hunk of yellow metal called a
bulldozer. That's progress!
THE STATE. March 1982
Lula
Vollmer
Started
Here
And sumo of hop plays re¬
flected a Western !\orfh
Carolina upbringing.
By
к
AT HAKIM:
MELVIX
The name of Lula Vollmer. writer
and dramatist, may not be recognised
as that of a native far Heel, but she
was very much a product of her child¬
hood upbringing in North Carolina. In¬
cidentally. her plays were performed
not only on the American stage, but in
other countries as well. Her writings
centered, for the most part, around
mountaineer life as she knew it as a
school girl in Asheville.
My own interest in her was sparked
when I learned from a cousin that Lula
Vollmer had in childhood lived in my
home town of Carthage. Later. I learned
that she had also lived for a brief time in
Cameron. Her family were also listed
as being residents of "Gold Region"
(now Robbins) in the 1900 census. She
was bom in Keyser. later called Addor.
a few miles from Southern Fines. Her
parents were William S. and Virginia
Vollmer. Mr. Vollmer was a lumber¬
man. a sawmill operator, which ex¬
plains the brief slays of this family in
any locality.
Later, the Vollmer family, in quest
of work, moved to the western part of
the state. At age eight. Lula was sent to
a boarding school. Since, at this early
age. she would likely still be living in
Moore County, and because of the fact
that the "Elise Academy" was started
in the late 1890‘s, it could have been
From tickot-wller to dramatist on Broodoay
the "boarding school" listed above. It
was at this boarding school that Miss
Vollmer herself began to write stories.
"I was punished several times when
short, but lurid tales were found in my
desk." she recalled.
Later, she attended the Normal Col¬
legiate Institute at Asheville. "It was a
strict religious school, but in English
classes we were allowed to act out
scenes from Shakespreare." This fired
her taste for drama and she began to
write short plays for classmates, w hich
were acted out in the school gym. un¬
known to the faculty.
Then, at age eighteen, her parents
look her to New Orleans where she
saw her first professional play. This
decided her future: she would be a
playwright. Meantime, she had to find
work. A job as a reporter on a weekly
newspaper netted her five dollars per
week, but also afforded her the op¬
portunity to bombard New York dra¬
matic publishers with manuscript after
manuscript, all of which were promptly
returned.
But Lula was not to be outwitted in
her choice of a career by mere rejec¬
tions. Like mrny North Carolinians
before and since, she moved to the big
city itself, after saving a nest egg of a
few hundred dollars. New York City
was where she planned to ride her
