It was another hard day for our family – as for everyone – in trying to live with this new normal. Just getting groceries seems to be an act of battle.
So, this afternoon, we all went for a walk on our tree farm. It was that mittens and a wool hat kind of cold spring late afternoon here in Central New York, but the sun had finally come out and was most welcome!
Our conifer trees – all 18,000 of them – are planted in varying micro-environments. Some 4 to 8 footers are in rows, other 40+ foot monsters are scattered about the 55 acres. Each step on the farm brings a new world – different soils and water flows, open meadows, some wetlands, a mountain ridge, a stream in the valley. Throughout all these different environments, however, there is one, noticeable common theme – planted flowers.
In the springtime each year on the farm, yellow daffodils begin popping their smiling, sunny heads up and out of the winter muck to say hello… whew, another winter is done, they seem to say. They show up all over the farm in the oddest places… in the deep woods, in the middle of a field, under a tree. They’re everywhere! They were planted by the previous farmer who worked this land – Mr. McFall. He absolutely loved flowers.
He must have been a heller in his younger days – the local lore tells the tale of a man not too many people liked. But, with time and age, he must have mellowed, because we knew him quite differently. He became more of a rascal in his old age – a sneaking extra cookies kind of guy. He liked our family. And we liked him.
He and his wife – she had definitely NOT mellowed – continued to live across the street from the farm in a little house and a little piece of the original land – land they had worked for over 45 years. They started with corn, then cattle, then chickens and pigs, then turkeys. When all that failed, they tried Christmas trees. Their Christmas trees didn’t make much money; the McFall’s aged; their children had no interest in farming; the trees and the farm fell into neglect and they all kept on growing in scattered ways. This tragic scenario happens everywhere across the country.
Then, our family bought his farm land. It’s been a dream of ours for a long time – to own land – to let it define us as we define it. Our first snowy day here at the farm, Mr. McFall came over on a large tractor with two old sleds in the front end loader bucket. He wanted to make sure Zoë and Zach could have fun in the snow. Nice! In spring, when everyone emerged from hibernation, he showed up on our driveway wondering if we needed any help with our own tractor. We did. He helped. Over the summer he showed us how to trim the trees and an even better way to plant saplings. He showed us the problem trees with aphid egg cases and how to use soap to coat the cases before the aphids hatched and destroyed the tree. He knew we loved to walk the land, and, since he couldn’t walk it any more, he used to like mowing our trails every now and then – he’d surprise us with a new trail hidden in the trees and yell from his porch, “D’ya find it yet?” Good times.
Meanwhile, we delighted both McFalls with homemade, hand-cranked ice cream and cakes. We wrote them stories to read during the various times one or the other was laid up in the hospital. We swapped seed planting advice and helped each other with our gardens. Most importantly, we listened to their many stories about their lives. They really appreciated that, and so did we.
Two years ago, a few months prior to his 87th birthday, we planted Mr. McFall some daffodil bulbs during the fall to come up for his birthday in March. They did – and he was delighted.
He passed away about a year and a half ago. Boy, do we miss him! And now, when we see those smiling yellow faces greeting the spring sun, we think of Mr. Mc Fall and feel so grateful for all he has taught us.
Our family is trying to take this time of great global stress to remember what we can all learn from this debacle. We’re trying to think family, think simple, think home. And, as the daffodils remind us of Mr. McFall, we think he would be proud – sort of smiling in a rascal kind of way – just like a daffodil.
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