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Browsing Tag: #farm
A lifetime ago, I was the new girl at the Co-op. I was continually dazzled and awed by the celebrities that darkened our doors. I’ve seen Phil Fulmer, Bill Landry, countless local politicians, loads of Partons (my favorite is Bobby), and the mule man from Silver Dollar City. Seems like everybody needs the Co-op at one time or another. But some of the ones I remember the fondest are the ones who aren’t famous at all. There was an old gentleman, always neat, always precise, always cordial, that came in regularly. And to be honest, I was terrified to wait on him. I didn’t want to mess up. He frequently had one or two sons with him, and their presence just added to my nervousness. More witnesses to see me mess up. One afternoon I didn’t have a choice but to wait on him and his five pound bag of bolts. Gary wasn’t there to bail me out and I had to look up every single size in “The Book”. That’s not the good book, but it is the Co-op Bible. Before the internet, it’s what we had for information. It was like a condensed farming encyclopedia with item numbers, descriptions, pictures, and prices because plenty of Co-ops still wrote hand tickets in the early 2000’s. Anyway, there were several pages of tables for pricing bolts. First you…
“Sevier County 911, where is your emergency?” “And I told him that would never work, nuh-uh, but he wouldn’t listen, so I just sat back and watched.” “911, where is your emergency?” “He was always like his brother, youknowwhatimean? Just alike. They got it from their momma’s side, their daddy wouldn’t like that.” The voice was nearly as familiar as my own. I couldn’t be wrong. The wPh2 was hitting right at the back of Eagle Den. I knew just exactly who had accidentally dialed us on their new cell phone this time. “Richard!” I hollered, much to the dismay of my coworkers who were plugged into the call with me. But he’s about stone deaf so you have to talk loud. I knew the chances of hearing me would be slim, anyway. “RICHARD!!!” He kept on, talking to whoever about whatever machine they were picking apart. I sighed as I listened, then finally just hung up and called him back. After much fumbling and grumbling on his part, I got him. “Hello?” “Richard, it’s Flop.” “Flop?! Well, what are you a-doin’?” “Well, I’m at work, and you’ve called us by accident.” “This dern thing, I don’t know how I did.” “Well, it sounds like you…
This is the first time in many years the thought of spring doesn’t fill me with dread. Spring doesn’t mean EXACTLY the same thing in Co-op circles as it means for most people. For the majority, spring means warmer weather, maybe thinking about planting a garden, or putting in a pool, going to the lake, planning barbeques. Spring at the Co-op means an absolute onslaught of people, demanding grass and vegetable seeds, fertilizer, herbicides, pesticides, you name it. Spring means a season of calves brought in thunderstorms by heifers, the constant nuisance of flies, and the persistant worry of when the rain’s coming-will it be soon enough? Can it hold off till you get this last field spread? Old men and new farmers haggle over buggies and sprayers and sod drills. They raise Cain that the price of chemicals are cheaper by three dollars the next county over. They gripe and complain about being subjected to “all these changes” and “you about can’t make a livin’ anymore, with you a-robbin’ us blind!” Yes. Clearly, I’m the one to blame. There’s the warehouse screaming on the radio to quit sellin’ Kennebec seed potatotes, how many times do they have to tell us we’re out till Houser gets back from Tenco? The phones are ringing with people wanting to know when…
While there have been stretches I have missed the Co-op ACUTELY, Saturdays are not one of those times. Especially this particular Saturday, the second one of October. Because today, just like the second Saturdays of Octobers for decades past, is Customer Appreciation, also known as Open House. I don’t know why we call it anything other than Chaos and Free Crap, because that’s what it is. We’re open to anybody that has money or credit, it’s not like this is a sneak peek into everything you’re missing by not being a member. And as far as the “Customer Appreciation” title goes, well….they paid me to say “I appreciate everybody every day!” Ha. It is madness, pure & simple. Unaltered mayhem & chaos & all of the things I seek to avoid in my quiet existence. There are running kids and raffle ticket bickerers, bargain shoppers and lounging sales reps, dogs (of both hot and furry varieties) and drunks, locals & tourists, friends & competition. There are retired Co-op employees chatting over beef & grain prices, rain & lack thereof with the farmers who tenaciously hang on. The wives eating popcorn while surreptitiously looking at clothes her husband will tell her to buy but hopes she doesn’t, their children chasing each other around the racks & down the aisles, a drippy ice cream in one hand & a hot dog smothered…
I have a friend who is married to a farmer. They are raising their boys among the cows & corn. The boys have calves they bottle feed & sell, they have horses they check fences astride. They enjoy the day to day life of being outside, helping their daddy tend to the newly born, the ailing, the healthy. One day, I was disheartened to read on Facebook about how one of their sons was being ridiculed at school. A schoolmate called him poor because he lives on a farm. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Trust me, farmers aren’t poor. They meet struggle every day of their life. They are up against it at least fifty percent of the time. Imagine if your livelihood was dependent upon the weather. If it doesn’t rain one day & the sun shine the next, you might be looking for a job in town. And then when hay is ready to cut to feed the cows all winter, you pray for three straight days hot & clear. To get your hay to grow, it must be fertilized. Fertilizer runs around $500 a ton. One ton will fertilize roughly seven acres. If your fields yield well, seven acres of hay will produce maybe 100 rolls of hay. A cow will eat half a roll a day in the wintertime if their pasture is thin. You figure four months of winter, which is 120 days. If you have thirty cows, that…
So, yesterday I got to go back in time AND be a snake. I don’t mean I was a snake in a past life. And I know you know I’m scared of snakes. But it was really a good time. The good thing about having the same job for so long is I travel in the same circles & get to know a lot of people. So when I go to meetings, I see at least one familiar face. This is both a blessing and a curse, because I’m comfortable enough to chat with people, but also, I get called on a lot & made an example of, because the speakers know me by name. As was the case yesterday. Minor, Whit, & I went to a meeting in Morristown to learn about sales skills from Purina. You may not know it, but Minor & I go way back. To Walters State. Like, twenty years we’ve known each other. There’s another girl in the Co-op system we went to college with, Mandy Hicks. And Mandy was at this particular meeting, too. You know how it is when you get around people you’ve known that long. You regress to the good ole days, & reminisce about that time in your life. It’s a great deal of fun catching up. And the three of us haven’t been to a meeting together in a long, long…
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl with long golden hair. She met & fell in love with a handsome young man. They were wed in the middle of Crawford’s Notch by Jimmy Temple. The little family grew, & soon they had three wild mules running around the house & over the hills. They had a swimming pool, but preferred the pond. Theirs was a picturesque farm on the river, in the middle of town, with beautiful horses grazing in manicured pastures. As the mules grew up & formed relationships with others, these friends were welcomed as family. Their home was always full to brimming with an ever growing group of people. There was much laughter & fun & plenty of tasty food. We sought counsel many times over the years & found understanding in their eyes and a big hug at every turn. The family remained strong & close knit as the years went by. They gathered every Sunday morning at the main home for biscuits and gravy at 9:30 sharp. It was the one time a week everyone was expected to convene together as a whole. They believed in agriculture, & they all worked hard to keep the Sevier County fair going so it would always serve as a special memory for all the kids of the county. They brought it out of a black hole & made it the best one in the state. And we were proud. This family was loved…
This post began January 5th, 2015, and finally came full circle months later when I realized I was waiting on the owner of the pigs, as I knew I eventually would. “Have you seen those two big pigs down here? They’re up on the hill…in some chain link fence….” Yankee trails off as I squint my eyes at her, trying to determine if she just launched into this story or if there was a prelude that I hadn’t been tuned in for. Rewind…replay….no. “Which road???” I ask. “Chapman Highway.” Mighty long road. “Where at on Chapman?” “Uhhhmmm…I can’t think….it’s up on a hill….there’s chain link around the property…” She’s vaguely gesturing with her right hand. “What’s the closest business or road to it?” “….I’m not sure….” “Is it before Zion Hill or after?” “After.” “Is it before Sugarloaf Road or after, or do you even know where Sugarloaf is?” “Yeah, it’s after.” “Is it after the Wye?” “No, it’s before.” “Okay, so they’re between Sugarloaf & the Wye?” “No. It’s if you’re leaving Sevierville, before you get to Sugarloaf…
Last week, I decided that I needed to learn how to can before everybody I know crosses over & there’s nobody left to teach me. I mistakenly thought this would be fairly simple. I ask a coworker, who is known for her huge garden & her season-long canning of green beans. She promptly informs me that she can’t can tomatoes, that her husband always does it, she’ll send him to talk to me next time he’s through. Inwardly, I’m dreading this, I don’t talk to him a lot, because outwardly he projects a kind of gruff demeanor, even though I know he’s really not. I’m not sure how he’s going to be on giving me direction for something so precise. The very next day he’s in, & I bring it up. “Oh, it’s easyyyy….it’ll take you twenty minutes, tops.” This sounds promising. “Okay, is this something I need to come watch you do, or is it something you can tell me how to do right here, right now?” I asked. “I can tell you right now. It’s simple.” “Alrighty-roo. Hit me. Wait, do I need to make notes?” “You got a good memory?” “Nope. Hang…
Most of you remember him as “The Mule Man” at Silver Dollar City and later, Dollywood. Somewhere, my mom has a picture of he & I together in front of the mill, me grinning like a mule eating sawbriars. Later, when I came to work at the Co-op, I was astonished when he came walking up to buy sweet feed. I hadn’t thought about him in twenty years, & thought he was long gone to heaven. He was OLD when I was little! But here he was, just acting like a normal person, shopping at th…e local feed & seed. I remember after he left, I was beside myself! I had just been in the presence of a real celebrity!!! Gary & Judy were laughing because he was just a regular mountain man to them, & unbeknownst to me, had lived right over the hill from me “in the valley” years ago (& missed it desperately, as he would tell anybody that asked). Red, indeed, was a regular customer, I came to know soon after. I was always dazzled to wait on him & would engage him in conversation every time I had the opportunity. He worked at The Mine in Governor’s Crossing for awhile & would regale me with stories of the tourists who remembered him from their vacations in years previous, taken with their parents. And now here they were with THEIR kids, & had to have…
