Remembering the Last Farm in the North

View of the farm and barn

The farmer and the dog

There was a message on a neighborhood website Nextdoor that a barking dog was loose on the farm. Someone suggested calling an animal shelter, and then the barking stopped.

The farmer had passed away at 96, and the last family farm with the history of the county’s agricultural past disappeared with him. After years of being at the farmer’s side and chasing cows, the dog, alone, hungry, and confused, barked for answers and found none.

The farm was an oasis in the increasing urban sprawl happening in the town.

A time capsule

I stopped by the vacant farm to remember the lives once lived and the sweat and blood that feed the soil. I wanted an imprint of the place, so slowly, I watched and snapped a photo in my mind of every tree, wildflower, broken barn, and tractor spewed across the land.

I wanted a time capsule of photos to be saved for all times.

Flamboyant trees in full bloom welcomed me. To the left wild purple flowers had moved into pastures where cows once roamed and cotton grew.

To the far left, way down in the corner, stood the Tenant House, where former slaves had slept and prayed to harvest moons for crops and seeds to pay their dues.

The tenant farming house stood slightly bent on bended knees, tilted to one side. The wood planks falling on the ground had given up the fight many years ago.

The Tenant’s House will be saved.

Further up, on the left, climbing vines strangled white and reddish barns where hay was stored.

A basketball hoop with a stringless net looked down on broken chairs and storage sheds left rotting on the ground.

On the right of the driveway, the main house where the farmer lived with an enclosed porch and chimney brown, no longer white, stood hidden among trees that stood gloriously tall, reaching for the sky.

If trees could talk what tales, they would tell of births and death, laughter too, and stories of those who toiled while holding onto dreams of better lives.

The birds came to say goodbye and thank the trees for their homes and shelter from the storms. Next spring, from long flights across the seas, they would find no home here, not evermore.

The bulldozer and the house

The end was drawing near as, one by one, the bulldozers came and stood like soldiers standing guard.

The bulldozer approached the farmer’s house like a ‘showdown’ scene in a Western movie script. And as each blow struck, the screams of every brick and wood could be heard bellowing across the land.

Then it was over, and 200 years of history was reduced to a single pile. The trees had promised not to cry. They knew their turn would come. The bulldozers and excavators were waiting for the call.

The day after

I stood across the street early the following day and stared at the remaining little pile.

On her morning walk, a long-time resident stopped beside me, shook her head, and sighed, “it’s hard to see the farm is gone; a great loss,” she said.

She had lived in the neighborhood for over 34 years, and she recalled leaving the city each day after work and driving by the farm on her way home.

Looking at the cows, trees, and green open space, she felt peace. “It’s a pity it could not be saved,” she moaned.

Rapid growth and development

She expressed concern about the number of developments and the rapid changes in the town. One day, she said, she got into her car and drove down the main street, where she counted over twenty banks.

“Can you believe it?” she lamented. “Why do we need so many banks?”

I nodded in agreement, and we went back in a silent mood and gazed at what remained of the historic farm.

It was as if a spontaneous memorial was taking place, and if you were passing by, you would have stopped — to say goodbye to one of the last family farms in the county.

Final thoughts

According to American Farm Trust Report Farms Under Threat,

Americans are paving over agricultural land at a rapid pace.”

“Smarter land use planning is urgently needed to safeguard the land that grows our food.”

“We need farmland not just to feed a growing population but to provide essential ecological services that nurture wildlife, cleanse water and capture atmospheric carbon.”

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