Just up the road from us, a farm that has been a community stand-by is shutting down. By fall, instead of growing apples, peaches, blackberries, strawberries, blueberries, and pumpkins, the land will bloom with houses.
It’s a loss to our community, and one that the majority of folks seem to comprehend. Subdivisions we have. But a place to pull in, buy your kids a slushy from one of the stories mixing machines, pick up a bushel up fresh-picked apples, and chew the fat with friends? That can’t be replicated. And, I’ll wager, it won’t.
The 80-year old farmer has sold the property to developers, and is in the process of liquidating decades of acquired odds, ends, and implements. They held a massive sale this past weekend, offering everything from tractors to berry-picking baskets, to the very doors in the ancient old farmhouse that will be torn down to make way for new construction. An eclectic crowd assembled to pick through the assembled bits: antique hunters, housewives whose homes echo anything Joanna Gaines, local characters hoping for a momento, junk dealers, and hopeful homesteaders like ourselves.
What we really wanted weren’t yards of hoses or metal-wheeled wheelbarrows. We were most interested in the thing the elderly farmer cared about passing on the most: the plants.
Sadly, the apple and peach trees are simply too old to survive transplanting and will be plowed under. The strawberry plants were left untended this spring due to the impending sale and family illness, and are a riot of weeds not worth saving. That leaves the blackberries and blueberries. Having lived in Washington state and hacked our way through blackberry bushes for years, we prefer to find those particular sweet treats wild. But the blueberries… those we wanted.
It feels slightly wrong to benefit from the death of another farm, I’m not going to lie. Pulling through the quiet fields that should have been bursting with spring activity physically hurt my heart. I’m trying to tell myself that by buying a handful of blueberry bushes, we’re allowing a small piece of this man’s life work to continue on.
Like all old farmers, he’s a gregarious, friendly fellow quick to share tips and tricks and eager to spend time with anyone who shows an interest in working with the land. Thus, our excursion to select and dig just four blueberry bushes was several hours long. In the blazing sun. Jack has gotten used to the social nuances of East Tennessee farmers, and napped in the back of the truck while the men talked shop.
But we got our bushes, as well as an open invitation to come by the farmer’s home nearby to visit and talk shop anytime.
Back at our little farm, we went to work making ready the location we had selected for the bushes. They’re a decent size already and full of flowers and young berries. We’re not optimistic that we’ll see any fruit this year, but hey… we’re not opposed to any miracles!
Our far field is now home to our first four blueberry bushes. Tiny reminders of local heritage, and hopeful seeds of an orchard and berry field that until yesterday existed only in our dreams. Next spring, God willing, Floating Axe Farm will harvest asparagus, strawberries, and blueberries. I can’t wait.