The former Carl Everett Farm, now home to Spunky Dogg Farms and Forestry. I've hit that mailbox more times than I care to admit.
When I got out of the Army, I knew I wanted to be a farmer. Thoughts of working the soil, planting crops and watching them grow helped me get through the mundane hours of time on base. I couldn't wait until my discharge came and the next chapter of my life began.
And then that day came. I found work doing odd jobs while I waited for the perfect opportunity to purchase my own ground. I'll admit I was picky, perhaps too picky.
One day on a lunch break, I caught word that Carl Everett had passed away suddenly. Carl was a local farmer who had grown into a local legend just through longevity alone.
Every day for 50 years Carl was outside working on either his land or his equipment. He had no family to speak of, and when he passed, he had no known next of kin. Farming was his life and it kept him going until the bitter end when his body finally blew a fuse.
The Carl Everett farm wasn't expansive, two small plots of land and an undeveloped area of timber along the bluff bordering Indian River that snaked its way through Chainsaw Valley in Elm Creek County. It was what one man could manage on his own and Carl did what he could.
Harvesting Carl Everett's prized potatoes.
In hearing about the man, I felt like it was my destiny to carry on his legacy. Carl had donated generously to local charities, remained active in his church and was - in all descriptions - a good man.
With no known next of kin, that meant his farm, his livelihood, his reason for living landed in the lap of the local bank. Banks in general don't like being in the real estate business, so that meant there had to be an auction.
Carl, as most farmers do, had taken out a significant amount of capital at the bank to keep operating. What that meant for interested buyers was his farm would come with no equipment. All the machinery would be liquidated to settle his debts with the bank and pay off his final expenses.
There was also a time element. Carl's death came when his prized potatoes, which he frequently claimed were the "best-tastin' taters this side of the Mason-Dixon line," were only weeks (if not days) away from being ready for harvest.
With this information, I knew there would be interest in the farm, A LOT of interest. I gathered as much money as I could through selling personal possessions, borrowing from friends and family and my own life savings.
Through it all, I accumulated $1.5 million. That sounds like a lot, but if you know Carl and know what's in those two fields...it made me nervous that it wouldn't be enough.
Auction day came and the tiny auction house of Byrne & Jones had never seen as many people. It was like a rock concert in there.
But I would not be denied. By the time it was all over, I had it and it cost me all but $40,000 to buy the farm, lease some equipment and keep Carl's legacy alive.
And I farmed those taters, bringing in 48,999 liters of potatoes (I know, you couldn't find
one more potato?) that added up to a little more than $24,000 at market.
As Carl would say, "Taters in the hole!"
While Carl's legacy will live on, his prized potatoes will not. Tradition, as they say, is peer pressure from the dead and I need to carve out my own path. Carl will be remembered, just not in the way you might expect.
We're in October now and getting ready for winter. The fields have been plowed and de-rocked. Our adventure has begun.
A view of Indian River from the top of Carl Everett's undeveloped timber tract along the bluff bordering the river.