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Adventures of a New Farmer – Part 1 – The Calling
By Felicia Browell
I spent sixteen and a half years working for a Fortune 500 company near Pittsburgh as a technical writer and editor. It had its ups and downs, many manager changes, many department reorganizations, and many company policy changes. One change they eventually made was to help pay for college – for any degree, even those unrelated to the employee’s job. So I applied to and was accepted into a master’s level writing program.
Fast forward about two years to the last semester. By April, in the throes of polishing my thesis, I was getting four to five hours of sleep a night. That’s when I had a conversation with God.
Yes, that’s what I said. An actual conversation.
“Feed My people.” The voice in my head told me.
“What was that?” I asked. This wasn’t normally how I dreamed, and besides, I was getting far too little sleep to dream. In my head, I looked around.
“Feed My people?” I heard again.
“I have half an acre outside of Pittsburgh,” I objected. How could I feed more than myself with the neglected ten by twenty garden in my side yard?
“Not here.”
“Where?”
“I’ll show you.” I imagined I could feel a vague presence by then.
“But I don’t know how to farm.” I insisted, trying to keep the whiney tinge from my tone.
“Learn!” His tone was a mixture of annoyance, amusement, and patience.
“Er, okay. But where?”
Silence. I waited, mentally holding my breath. But I heard nothing more.
Then I opened my eyes and sucked in a real breath, because I had actually been holding it. I remember thinking “that was weird” and wondering if I’d really just had that conversation. Or, maybe it was all just fatigue and fantasy.
I had been a gardener for decades already, subscribed to some really good gardening magazines, and had a rather extensive collection of books on various gardening subjects. But nothing on farming. Gardening is vastly different than farming.
It had been a dream. It had been real. I spent at least three days going back and forth between believing it was real, and trying to dismiss it as a product of exhaustion. I was going to focus on my writing as soon as I finished the blasted thesis!
Then I realized I felt a new purpose, a new drive in my mind and heart. I felt almost compelled to search for land and figure out how to learn to farm.
Well, first complete the degree. Then – figure it out.
Then, at 4:34 one morning in May, about three weeks after the first conversation, I had another. I didn’t say anything this time, but I heard a series of search criteria in my head. I focused hard on what I heard, ad pried my eyes open, marveling that God speaks Google. I stumbled from my bed over to my computer. I typed it all in, and up popped some land for sale in a tiny county in North Carolina. My searches had not found that one. I had been looking both in North Carolina, and areas in mid-state Pennsylvania. (I’d always wanted to live in NC!)
This land had lots of trees, access to roads and highways, and nearby groceries and gas stations. There were colleges and universities, and (bonus) a coffee shop, an ice cream shop, and a library nearby too.
Okaaaayyy. I looked it over. There were a few pictures from the road – stands of large trees – actually an entire forest. There was another picture of the recently cut area under some power lines, a map showing the boundaries, and an elevation map. Not much to go on, but okay, for the price, I felt I could take a look. I called up a real estate agent, asked him to find out why it was priced lower than I expected.
A couple hours later, he called back and explained that a group of kids had inherited it, were tired of paying the taxes, so wanted to sell it quickly. I said I’d meet him there that Friday.
I made an offer the same day. We settled on a price by the following Friday, and after finding a surveyor to confirm the boundaries, we set the closing for the end of September.
I was on a quest, and a mission. I felt elated – and terrified. What was I doing?
Buying the land, it turned out, was the easy part.

Toolbox
By E. Bishop
The “toolbox of life” can hold many things but the Davie County Senior Center and the Davie County High School English Department believe writing skills to be one of the essentials to include in that box. The Senior2Senior project pairs up willing senior citizens with high school seniors to be pen pals with each writing four letters to each other. This is a volunteer opportunity that I have embraced as a member of the over 55 crowd hoping to feel better connected to the younger generation.
Not only have I felt connected with these young individuals on a certain level but I have benefitted as well. Writing these letters gave me a sense of purpose by sharing my life experiences, offering support and encouragement along the way. Connecting through penpal correspondence has been both a fun and rewarding experience.
Hopefully, the exposure to older adults and their perspectives have made a difference in these young lives. Sharing and learning from each other is good for the mind and body. Both, young and old, can learn to be more empathetic, gain insight into other’s views and become more connected. Each of us should have a well-stocked toolbox to continue handling life’s challenges.
The collection of skills, habits and resources that we use to navigate and achieve goals in life is that toolbox. Being able to write in a clear and concise manner is crucial for communication, learning and personal development. Having strong writing skills improves critical thinking, builds relationships, helps you organize your thoughts and is definitely essential for many professions. The three young men with whom I corresponded with seem to have a good grasp on how to communicate well. Their English teacher should be commended.
Not only should the Senior English teacher be commended but all of those coming before should be commended as well. Many teachers have had a positive influence on these young individuals throughout their lives and it shows in their willingness to be a part of this pen pal program. The Senior2Senior project has enriched my life. Hope you will join in when school resumes. As far as I know, the English teacher does not give us (the old ones) a grade on our writing.

Farm Life Back in the Day
By Linda H. Barnette
Although I did not grow up on a farm, I’m the first person in my family who can say this. My dad’s family arrived in Rowan County in the late 1700’s and are on record as having purchased land there in 1778. From that time, at least here in North Carolina, until my dad left the farm to work in town in the early 1930’s, the Hartley’s were people of the land. They lived for several generations near the Yadkin River in Davidson County until my grandfather bought a farm in Davie County around 1920.
I have many pleasant memories of visiting my grandparents as a child in the 1940’s and 1950’s. Their lifestyle was very different from ours in town. Although they did have electricity, there was no phone, no television, and no inside bathroom. Their water came from a well, and their bathroom was outside in what they called a “privy.” My grandmother cooked on a wood stove, and my grandfather had a big garden and raised all of their vegetables. He also kept cows, pigs, and chickens which they used for meat, eggs, and milk. Since I was a city girl, I was petrified of the animals, especially after being attacked by one of their big old roosters as I was playing in the sand one day!
When I was about 10 years old, my parents allowed me to spend a week with my grandparents in the summers (after the rooster had been removed). It was to me an adventure. After working all day, we would sit on the front porch or either in the yard under the huge old oak tree in the front yard. Their yard, as others in those days, was swept instead of grassed, most likely to keep critters away. However, one day while we were sitting out, a huge black snake fell out of the tree. My grandfather jumped up, grabbed the snake, and whirled it around like a whip, breaking the snake’s neck. Of course, he was my hero from then on. Looking back, I guess that my fear was more important to him than how helpful the black snake could be on the farm.
Sometimes the girl who lived across the road came over, and we went down to the Yadkin River to play. Papa kept his homemade wooden boat there, and we swam, fished, and generally had a great time in the water. I am terrified when I think about the snakes and other things that must have been in the water, but so is the innocence of childhood. We could still see the cables that had steered the ferry back and forth from Papa’s land to his father’s property on the other side of the water.
In my memory I see all of these things, especially Papa walking to his garden in his bib overalls followed by his white dog, Fluffy. Papa lived at the end of the days when almost everyone in the country farmed and were self-sustaining. Although modern life is easier in many ways, in others the simpler life was treasured for its closeness to the land, the animals, and the family. My father once told me that you can take the people from the land but not the land from the people. I had no idea what he meant then, but I do now. I understand their respect for the land as a place and a sustainer and a home.