He was 19, he was supposed to be at school. School did not quite fit. He could be in the car business, 20% ownership out of the gate. He did not quite fit. He had a few friends who worked summers on a farm. The work was hard but rewarding. He almost fit, in theory. He had worked on some very large estates, for the carriage trade people.
For 3 years, throughout high school, he did day projects, cleaned the gutters, went to the bank, met the landscaper at one house, was the landscaper at the next house, did errands, he did free-lance, before “freelance” – here today gone tomorrow and loving it. He fit well into that world. It was his education.
He had determined that an estate property, that was a farm, was where he wanted to go. Back in the day there was a newsletter, New England Farm Bulletin. It was printed on nice stock, told short stories and had classifieds, it talked of animals and tractors and the enjoyment of a self sustained idyllic lifestyle that he wanted. One of the things he had learned about the newsletter, by someone who is now unknown, was the newsletter had the finest demographic that you could imagine. He was going to market himself, his skills and go get a job or a project, whether it was a season or 2, he wanted it. He always had the car business to go back to.
The ad was placed, the calls came in, his father thought it was ridiculous. Then he went to Woodstock, VT, Hanover NH, Henniker NH and Boston, MA. If a person ever wondered about economy, scale, wealth, rich or poor, in less than 2 months, he had an education in demographics, hands on. Neither wealth nor poverty knows any bounds, it is all relative.
Boston was chosen, the property was exceptional, the current generation of owners was exceptional, the buildings and houses, the land were all lost in time. They were going into a family generational shift, plans were being bounced around, most of the major agriculture had stopped or was outsourced, but the base operations were there. It all started @ $800 per month, a house, health insurance, all expenses, a truck – the rules, just protect the property, “you are me, out there” was the order, “we’ll talk on the phone and get things done.” Stephen was great.
The place allowed for the hands, the brain and the heart to work together, the place was beautiful, the work was enjoyable, the people were exceptional. It may last a week or month or year, the carriage trade does not commit until they are sure.
On the first site visit, he met “Susan” at the property, she will win you over in 3 minutes, rare is the person who can exude such polite, clear but serious explanation of needs, wants and purposeful desire so succinctly. “This was a family place that needs to be loved and respected.” Done. Susan was great.
The conversation was over. Then he went to the woods, down to the river, across pastures, into barns. Exceptional. Even as these words are written today, the feelings are as present as type them.
He was pleased, his parents were shocked, friends thought it ridiculous, sisters thought crazy. When the cousins were told, they shook their head. $800 ? a house? what?
The he is obviously me. My future was being cemented that day, from there came gains on every front, from the animals, to hard work, to financial gain, to the golden eggs raised by Charley, and hay that must have been spun from silver, to apples that were priceless. My education with Stephen and Susan, my children’s education with Mamie. The work and play or vice versa, I cannot tell you where it stopped or began, it is now a blur.
This is also where I met Shelley. My father, who was still in initial shock, was visiting, as we roamed around, I introduced him to Shelley. He was charmed, with in the first minute after we left her, he clearly said, “don’t go there”.
Too late.
There are more stories of other characters, of friendships, firewood and ducks, horses and sheep, dogs and cats, chickens and the Rooster. Some day.
H